text:
GENEVA DORIS MITCHELL (February 3, 1908 – March 10, 1949) was an American actress.[1] After beginning her entertainment career as a chorus girl at the age of twelve, she became more well known for her roles in several Hollywood films.

Early years

Mitchell was born in Medaryville, Indiana.[2] Her mother, Verna Mitchell Foss, danced in the Ziegfeld Follies.[3]

Career

Mitchell started her career on the stage in a musical comedy. At age 17, she was in the choruses of _Sally_ and the Ziegfeld Follies of 1921.[4]

She signed a contract with Warner Brothers in October 1929, and with Columbia Pictures in June 1934. Modern viewers will recognize Mitchell from her appearances in the Three Stooges 1935 films _Restless Knights_, _Pop Goes the Easel_, and particularly _Hoi Polloi_. In _Hoi Polloi_, Mitchell plays a dance instructor who directs the Stooges to “do exactly as I do.” Before she begins her dance, a bumblebee lands on her bare back, and then crawls under her dress. She becomes alarmed. Naturally, the Stooges mimic her every startled move. This hilarious footage was to be reused six years later in _In the Sweet Pie and Pie_.

Death

Poor health curtailed Mitchell's career after 1936, as she appeared in only one film throughout the 1940s. She died in Los Angeles, California on March 10, 1949 at age 41.

Personal life

Mitchell's circumstances often made the news. In March 1922,[5] when she was 17, she married Robert Savage, a millionaire's son, in Milford, Connecticut. Five days later, she returned his ring and said, “I'm too young to be a wife.”[6] On October 15, 1935, she married financier Harry J. Bryant in Yuma, Arizona.[7]

She was often seen with actor/director Lowell Sherman, and reported her brother as having been kidnapped by gangsters. She became entangled in legal wranglings involving Sherman's estate, and her publicist was sentenced to jail over a stunt she reportedly instigated.

Partial filmography

-   _Safety in Numbers_ (1930)
-   _The Doctor's Wife_ (1930)
-   _The Single Sin_ (1931)
-   _Working Girls_ (1931)
-   _Night World_ (1932)
-   _Faithless_ (1932)
-   _The Girl From Calgary_ (1932)
-   _The Devil Is Driving_ (1932)
-   _Morning Glory_ (1933)
-   _I Am Suzanne_ (1933)
-   _The Hell Cat_ (1934)
-   _Springtime for Henry_ (1934)
-   _The Captain Hates the Sea_ (1934)
-   _Restless Knights_ (1935)
-   _His Bridal Sweet_ (1935)
-   _Pop Goes the Easel_ (1935)
-   _Hoi Polloi_ (1935)
-   _It Always Happens_ (1935)
-   _Behind the Evidence_ (1935)
-   _She Married Her Boss_ (1935)
-   _Western Courage_ (1935)
-   _Honeymoon Bridge_ (1935)
-   _Lawless Riders_ (1935)
-   _Fighting Shadows_ (1935)
-   _The Crime Patrol_ (1936)
-   _The Cattle Thief_ (1936)
-   _Andy Plays Hookey_ (1946)

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

title: Geneva Mitchell

question: What does the text say about Geneva Doris Mitchell?

answer: Geneva Doris Mitchell was an American actress. She began her career as a chorus girl at the age of twelve. Some of the films she appeared in are "The Cattle Thief", "Hot Polloi", "Pop Goes the Easel" and "The Captain Hates the Sea". She died in 1949 of poor health.

critique: "The Cattle Thief" is inaccurate. It should read "The Crime Patrol".

critique: The answer should mention that Mitchell was known for her roles in several Hollywood films.

critique: The films she appeared in are not mentioned in the text.

critique: The character played by Mitchell in "Hoi Polloi" should be the one identified as "The Captain Hates the Sea".

critique: The answer should include the name of the actress.

critique: She appeared in several films, not just four

critique: It is omitted that some of her films are "The Doctor's Wife", "The Single Sin", "Working Girls" and "The Girl From Calgary".

critique: The answer should mention her personal life.

critique: a. she was well known for her roles in the three stooges films

critique: The answer should include what Mitchell's roles were and the movies that she starred in.

critique: Both premature deaths and illnesses are health, not poor health

critique: The answer should mention her early years.

critique: The films she appeared in are not relevant to the answer.

question: What does the text say about Mitchell's family in her early years?

answer: Mitchell's mother, Verna Mitchell Foss, danced in Ziegfeld Follies. Her mother was a dancer. Mitchell began her dance career as a chorus girl at age twelve. Verna Mitchell Foss was in the Ziegfeld Follies.

critique: The first four sentences are irrelevant.

critique: While Mitchell's mother comes from a family who were dancers, she did not herself.

critique: Mitchell's mother's career is irrelevant.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

critique: It is omitted that Mitchell was born in Medaryville, Indiana.

critique: The answer should mention Mitchell's father.

critique: Missing information about Mitchell's father

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

critique: Mitchell's mother was a dancer, not Mitchell

critique: The answer is not relevant to the question.

critique: Her mother's career is irrelevant, and Mitchell's dance career started when she was seventeen, not twelve.

critique: The answer is wrong and doesn't explain anything.

text: The last two sentences are irrelevant and redundant, respectively. These should be removed. The only useful information is the fact about Mitchell's mother.

category: coherence

refinement: Mitchell's mother, Verna Mitchell Foss, danced in Ziegfeld Follies. Her mother was a dancer. Mitchell began her dance career as a chorus girl at age twelve. Verna Mitchell Foss was in the Ziegfeld Follies.

question: What does the text say about Mitchell's career?

answer: In her early career, she danced in the Ziegfeld Follies. She signed a contract with Warner Brothers in 1929 and appeared in several Hollywood films before her health began to decline in 1936. As a result, she only had one role in the 1940s.

critique: The response misses to mention that she also signed a contract with Columbia Pictures in 1934.

critique: The answer should mention her role in the Three Stooges films.

critique: It's not clear that giving up acting after 1936 is the reason for her sporadic film roles considering she appeared in only one film in the 1940s.

critique: The 1940s were not mentioned in the article

critique: The answer omits her appearances in the Three Stooges films.

critique: Mitchell was famous for her roles in Hollywood films, not for her association with Warner Brothers

critique: The answer omits the fact that she was in the chorus when she was younger.

critique: Last sentence should mention the last movie she appeared in.

critique: It is omitted that she appeared in the Three Stooges films.

critique: The response should include Mitchell's filmography.

critique: The answer omits the films she appeared in.

text:
-The response omits that she began her career on a stage in comedy and appeared in the choruses of Sally and the Ziegfeld Follies in 1921, at the age of 17.
-It also omits the contract she signed with Warner Brothers and Columbia in 1929 and 1934 respectively.
-It also fails to mention that the hilarious footage of her unscripted movement in Hoi Polloi was reused in 'In the Sweet Pie and Pie' six years later.
These should be mentioned.

refinement: In her early career, she danced in the Ziegfeld Follies. She signed a contract with Warner Brothers in 1929 and appeared in several Hollywood films before her health began to decline in 1936. As a result, she only had one role in the 1940s.

question: What does the text say about taking on a career in the entertainment industry?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should include the context of the question.

critique: a verbal description of Mitchell is used for required input to answer this question.

critique: A career in the entertainment industry is not mentioned in the text.

critique: The text does not say anything about taking on a career in the entertainment industry.

critique: By contrast, the article is entirely about the author's career.


split: train

text:
Us four sat ensuring my stay.
In conversation, Rick was indirectly called a liar by Rob and Megan
because of me.
The price of being a father.
Any words spoken to him sounded like "Liar".
Any words spoken to me were in question.
As if I was being interrogated.
I had nothing to say unless asked.
The house was a mansion.
My cousin played the role of Keith Cozart.
I looked forward to good times as the house was left mostly
unattended.
As we spoke my mind wandered into flashbacks and daydreams.
Rob was showing me the room where I was going to stay.
There were many rooms and hallways.
Some rooms were connected by doors and weren't connected to hallways.
I opened a door to a bathroom and there was someone in the bathtub.
At first I laughed and looked away but Rob quicly put his arm around me and
led me away, and as he did I caught another quick glimpse of the bathtub and
noticed that it was a body. I was shocked and Rob started to remind me that I
didn't see anything that there was no one there. I instantly protested to
staying in the adjacent room which was where we were headed. I threatened to say
what I saw if forced to stay there. I was led away. The confusion and
unknowingness turned into fear and Plan. We returned downstairs and played it
off, acting as if that didn't happen. Later I spoke with Rob's sister about
what I had seen and she told me that it was not infact a body but pieces of
bodies that were created from insecurities. That she herself had created some
of the pieces that were in the bathtub. We walked and talked. I thought about
what I heard. Generations of insecurities brought about what was in the
bathtub. They all knew. Did Rick know? Did Megan know? I didn't know.
Who was it? Was it one of their own. We ended up back at the bathroom and I
looked in again and what I saw shocked me to the point that I couldn't clearly
make out what it was. Was it a body or was it pieces? It was entirely
underneath the water. I faked emotion and accepted the pieces of insecurities
and agreed to stay in the adjacent room. It was the only way to survive.
I spent most of the first week alone in the room.
I heard them speaking about me. About how I spent time alone.
I was genuinely afraid. The first chance I would take it.
It was a Saturday. I had stolen a few grams of Rob's cocaine and
over the course of 2 days had made it injectable with no one knowing.
The owner of the mansion, the famous Dr. Bob, had syringes in the
downstairs bathroom. Everyone left late in the night.
The only ones left were Rob and Megan. Who were passed out. I stabbed Rob with
the needle and injected it. As he woke and saw me he knew what my
intentions were but could not prevent them as the high almost instantly kicked
in and he fell into a euphoric state. Megan didn't even wake up.
The thought crossed my mind. Did she know about the bathtub? Had she noticed the
change in my behavior? I weighed the risk of foiling my Plan in my mind before
deciding to leave her behind as I escaped into the night. I stole a car from
the mansions garage and left leaving no trace of where I was going.
The insecurity of being insecure. Being insecure was my only security, the
only thing that led me to escape the fate that awaited me. Where all others had
failed and gave in to become part of the fate themselves I had broken free.

title: the fate that awaited

question: Summarize Megan's descent into madness.

answer: No answer

critique: Megan is not described as descending into madness.


text:
Another wet night after another cold day. He had been driving now for hours, aimlessly navigating the same small streets in the same small town. The same streets he had driven down every night for what seemed an eternity. He had always been in this filthy town, always scurried down it's streets in the night like one of its many rats. He drove at a crawl, the dirty yellow streetlights intermittently illuminating his cracked windshield. A lit cigarette hung between his dark lips, lost amidst his unkempt beard. The only source of heat on this cold, dark night.
He looked neither left nor right; he would not see anything he hasn't seen a thousand times before, no pedestrians out for a midnight stroll, no dogs crossing the littered streets, no newspaper, even, fluttering in the wind. He was alone on these streets, alone in this town. He turned a corner, once again ignoring the stop sign, like he had countless times before. There had never been anyone to stop for, never been anyone to stop for him.

A flash of light sliced through the darkness of the street, a deafening horn tore through the stillness of the night. The cigarette dropped from his lips, he didn't notice. Another car, another driver, another person. He wasn't alone on these streets tonight.
He swerved, the other car carried on its way, he jumped the curb, the other car carried on, he clipped a street light, still the other car carried on. The only other person that existed was quickly fading away into the night. He came to a stop and whipped his head around to see the car turn sharply onto another street in the distance.
He quickly jerked his old truck around, bouncing slowly as he dismounted the curb. He had to follow.  He drove as fast as his rusty pickup would allow and approached the street he had seen the other driver turn down. Looking both ways this time, he turned.
In the distance he could make out the other car. Small, white,  with one tire that was too small, and a taillight that had stopped working.
Who was this other person? The little car drove on and on down the street, past stores no one shopped in, past diners no one ate at, past houses in which it seemed no one lived in. He followed. And just as easily as it passed these houses, diners, and stores, it passed out of the town. And he followed.
He hadn't left the town since he had arrived, those long months ago, it seemed that he had always been there. He realized tonight how easy it was to just leave. He didn't give the town a glance in his mirror, it didn't deserve it.
His eyes remained fixed on the one taillight floating in the distance.
They drove and drove down dark country ways, turning onto ever widening roads. Slowly the roads began to be lit with the all familiar dirty yellow light. Dark and mysterious brush and forest gave way to dark and familiar buildings. Another town. The same empty diners, the same seemingly empty houses. He followed, unphased by the new and all too familiar surroundings.
The little white car was different. It was new. It was mysterious. He knew what he would find down the small side streets they passed, he did not know where this little white car would lead him.
It led him to a strip bar. It turned into a well lit parking lot in a well lite part of the town. Bar, the dirty sign said with "girls" flashing in neon red underneath.
The little car pulled into a parking spot not far from a back door. A rusty white door thrown in amongst the rough gray cinder block. He parked his truck facing away from the building, towards the street. Other cars were scattered throughout the parking lot. A few men wandered among these cars.
He looked out of his trucks window, expecting to see the little white car through his side view mirror. He instead saw only the stub of the mirror attached to the side of his truck. Barely a remnant of the mirror ever having existed. He must have lost when he clipped that streetlight. He looked through his rear view mirror, adjusting it to see the little white car. The driver had turned off the ignition, extinguishing the flame that was its one working taillight.
The door opened. Feet, legs, a torso appeared from inside the car. A woman. A head. Flowing jet black hair. No face. She had her back to him, walking briskly, as if running late toward the white door in the gray wall. The door opened, the door shut. She was gone.

title: Looking for any feedback [MF]

question: What does the story say about the woman the narrator sees?

answer: The narrator spots the woman in a white car, drives after it, and follows it to a strip bar, where the woman goes inside. She has long, flowing black hair and no face, and possibly has a limp.

critique: "The narrator spots the woman in a white car, drives after it, and follows it to a strip bar, where the woman goes inside." - the story never mentioned the woman limping or the color of the car.

question: What does the story say about the quality of food in small-town diners?

answer: No answer

critique: The passage says nothing about the quality of food in small-town diners.

critique: The answer should mention that the story does not mention anything about the quality of food in small-town diners.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator doesn't go to a diner.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator doesn't seem to care about the quality of food in small-town diners.


text:
It was a warm day in late February. There was a writing desk in Mr. Thomelson’s third floor study that, directly in front of a large bay window, afforded a lovely view of the garden and the several acres of dense woods that separated his property from that of Mr. James. The desk was covered in stacks of ancient papers, tax documents mostly, which had like dusty stalagmites grown impressively tall. A small space on the desktop, directly in front of the mahogany and leather chair, was relatively clear save for several items. On this particular day, these included an empty glass that had contained midafternoon bourbon, an open inkwell whose contents were fast hardening, and an ivory comb that was missing 3 of its 42 teeth.

The house was extremely large, boasting a dining hall large enough to host a small ball, and a master bedroom that could have rivaled Louis XIV’s. A well, an outhouse, and a small slave quarters populated the yard to the south of the house. Mr. Thomelson had only one slave, a domestic whose primary duties were cleaning and groundskeeping; her master always preferred to cook his own fare. Her name was Amused, since the midwife had been filled with fits of hysterical laughter throughout the birth, and  Amused herself had laughed before she first cried. The quarters were spacious since Mr. Thomelson was very fond of Amused. He had given her red and green paint to paint the walls, and an old wool mattress to sleep on.

Amused had always felt painfully isolated, but she enjoyed her work nonetheless. The garden below the study had been her idea, and Mr. Thomelson had bought her seeds, a hoe, and a watering can so she could plant it. Normally she was very diligent about tending the garden, but from time to time she would forget to weed among the hydrangeas or to prune the roses, and Mr. Thomelson would have no choice but to punish her. Over her quarters there was a long bough that hung low with the weight of innumerable offshoots and leaves bearing down on its soft bark. A robin made a nest near the very end of the bough so that its bottom grazed the roof of the quarters. When March came, the robin laid three eggs, all of which hatched on the same day. The baby robins chirped incessantly for the remainder of the spring, especially loudly during the early morning.

On the second day of May at around one o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Thomelson exited through the double doors on the west side of the house that were directly below the largest gable. Maple cane in hand, he began walking the length of the house, southward.

“Amused!” He called, his voice growling with the phlegm of his hay fever. “Where are you, girl?” His right eye, the eye with the smaller cataract, spotted her bare feet sticking out from the bush that abutted the corner of the west and south facades of the house. “Amused! Come here!”

He attempted to take another step forward, but only his cane moved: his feet were rooted to the spot. He couldn’t feel his boots below his ankles. Too perplexed and afraid to shout for help, he struggled  pointlessly. He looked over toward Amused again, at her slender calves that kicked slowly, rhythmically back and forth while she worked. Her earth-covered toes curled and uncurled as she whistled a tune to herself. Mr. Thomelson’s legs, like his feet, suddenly lost feeling. In just moments, every fiber of flesh below his waist was as inanimate as his lucky comb. He saw her legs disappear momentarily behind the bush and heard the whistling stop. She got to her feet and brushed the soil off her dress.

Then, as he realized she was about to round the corner and come fully into his view, he panicked. He meant to close his eyes. But for some odd reason, in his terror, only the right one shut; the left stayed wide. And so the last thing Mr. Norman Thomelson ever saw was the foggy silhouette of his slave girl, and the last thing he ever heard was a voluptuous laugh. On the west side of the house, just a few paces from the garden, remains the man with the eternal wink.

title: [MF] The Lucky Comb

question: Describe Mr Thomelson's relationship with Amused.

answer: He is fond of her. He has given her red and green paint to paint the walls and an old mattress to sleep on.

critique: The answer should mention that Amused is Mr. Thomelson's slave.

critique: He also bought her seeds, a hoe, and a watering can to plant a garden.

question: What happens to Mr. Thomelson in the end?

answer: He becomes rooted to the spot, his feet and legs lose feeling, and he is paralyzed from the waist down.

critique: He is not paralyzed from the waist down. This is incorrect.

critique: The answer should mention that he is left standing paralyzed outside.

critique: The answer should mention that he is turned into a statue.

question: What does Mr. Thomelson do for a living?

answer: He is a tax collector.

critique: Shipping & Maritime jobs also were mentioned that must be added to his job profile.

text: The documents on his desk could be for his own taxes; they are not indicative of his job.

category: accuracy


text:
The ST. ANTHONY HOTEL is a historic 10-story hotel in downtown San Antonio, Texas, USA. Built in 1909, it was considered one of the most luxurious hotels in the United States and hosted a wide range of film stars, royalty, and other famous guests. It is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

History

[St. Anthony Hotel in 1913.] [The St. Anthony at 300 E. Travis St. in San Antonio (2015)]

The St. Anthony Hotel was constructed by cattlemen B. L. Naylor, F. M. Swearingen, and A. H. Jones. The men believed that San Antonio was destined to become an important tourist destination and that a luxury hotel would bring an influx of wealthy people coming to the city.[1]

The St. Anthony was the first luxury hotel in the city. All the rooms had mahogany moldings and furnishings and telephones, Half of the rooms had private baths.[2] It also featured doors which opened automatically, and electric lights that turned off when the patron locked their hotel room door.[3] It was so technologically advanced that it was considered among the world's most modern hotels. The hotel also featured a richly appointed bar and lounge named “Peacock Alley”, added in the 1930s.[4] The hotel's St. Anthony Club restaurant also became well known for its excellent food. In 1915, the owners doubled the capacity of the hotel to 430 rooms.

[St. Anthony Hotel lobby in 1913.] In the depths of the Great Depression, however, the hotel fell on difficult times. It began to deteriorate, and the banks foreclosed on the owners.[5] Ralph W. Morrison, civic leader and rancher, purchased the hotel in 1935 for $475,000.[6] That year, the hotel added air conditioning and a drive-up registration desk.[7] Morrison purchased an extensive art collection to hang in the public spaces, and oriental carpets and French Empire furnishings for the public lounges.[8]

In 1982 the hotel was bought by Inter-Continental Hotels. It was renovated and reopened in 1983 as the ST. ANTHONY INTER-CONTINENTAL SAN ANTONIO. It completed renovations and joined The Luxury Collection on November 19, 2015.

Famous Guests

The St. Anthony Hotel has hosted a number of famous people. These include President Franklin D. Roosevelt, President Dwight D. Eisenhower, General Douglas MacArthur, Vice President John Nance Garner, and humorist Will Rogers.[9] Lyndon B. Johnson spent his honeymoon there.[10] The Newton Gang often resided there in the winter.[11] The hotel was also home to the cast of the first film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture, _Wings_. Stars of the film that stayed at the hotel included Richard Arlen, Charles "Buddy" Rogers and Clara Bow.[12]

In 2012, the hotel hosted the Arena Football University. At this event, arena football teams meet with vendors and league officials to discuss the upcoming season.[13]

Famous deaths

Samuel Gompers, president of the American Federation of Labor, died in the hotel on December 13, 1924.[14]

Texas politician Robert L. Bobbitt lived in the St. Anthony for the last year of his life prior to his death in 1972.

In the moments leading up to his death, Major General Frederick Funston, who President Woodrow Wilson favored as leader of the American Expeditionary Force in the First World War, was relaxing in the lobby of the hotel listening to _The Blue Danube_ Waltz. After commenting, “How beautiful it all is,” he collapsed from a massive painful heart attack (myocardial infarction) and died on February 19, 1917. He was holding six-year old Inez Harriet Silverberg in his arms. Wilson was forced to choose General John Pershing as a replacement.[15]

[1] Moehring and Moehring, p. 8—26.

[2]

[3]

[4] Ruff, p. 92-93.

[5]

[6] Carmack, p. 225.

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10] Woods, p. 101.

[11] Baker, p. 82.

[12] “Star Of 'Wings' Recalls The Silent Days” 1 _Los Angeles Times._

[13]

[14] Moeller, Becky. “Remember How Labor Day Came to Be.” _San Antonio Express-News._ September 1, 2013.

[15] [Tuesday, February 20, 1917 Omaha World-Herald (Omaha, Nebraska) Page: 1]

title: The St. Anthony Hotel

question: What convinced the original owners of the St. Anthony Hotel that it was destined to be a tourist destination?

answer: The reason given was because San Antonio has a river running through it, and San Antonio is a place worth visiting because "There's nothing elsewhere like the beauty of the San Antonio River."

critique: There is no evidence to suggest the reason given was because San Antonio has a river running through it.

critique: The reason given isn't "because San Antonio has a river running through it, and San Antonio is a place worth visiting because "There's nothing elsewhere like the beauty of the San Antonio River."

critique: The second-to-last sentence is unattested.


text:
"And I saw he was afraid, but not as much as if I had not been there" ->Harlan Ellison<-

The handles on the backs of the seats kind of suck up the comfort. You first see her sitting three rows ahead, in the opposite aisle. Her type is rare here, especially alone.  Blonde, slender, frail and quite. You would like very much to speak with her. Nothing creepy, but it's been a while since you've talked with someone who wasn't a crack head or strung out or family. Touching, that's far out of the question.

A rest stop comes soon. Very scenic, McDonald's parking lot, highway crossroads. Brown tinted gold in all directions. Drone sounds, and slight hills. Just the kind of nowhere place you've become accustomed to; you and your little red bag, with everything you need, freshly restocked with ketchup and sugar packets, honey and whatnot. Bits of crayon, business cards, scraps of paper, emergency candy bars and a notebook. This notebook, which you have in your hand, and fill with all you can pass through. Maybe somebody shall see, but it's unlikely. You also draw, scratch out scenes, nothing of great importance, except maybe to you. They unlock something that usually lives under heavy key.

And that girl is out and about, alone. Conversation is out of the question, but a piece is saved on your tiny page. A simple composition: parking barriers in their concrete dotted-line merge with car hood, boxy and blue, pulled forward to the limit, while a pale green branch twists a lonely way up, as the girl stands underneath, unencumbered, turned slightly away, admiring the wild grass hills with reverence most often reserved for Fuji, or the Louvre.  And as like, you see her composition.

Seeing surprisingly few cars and hearing even less, though they're there. Just because something is there you don't see or hear it, just ask pedestrian casualties. You find the scene has shifted, with hunching lines wrapped around, keeping warmth close to home. Fellow passengers begin to exit, some with big white bags, leopard print grease spots, many with large plastic cups. Each handful equal to a week of change that you yourself give for food. You find first-world self-imposed hunger to be quite a joy, at times. Henry David said it best you think, not sure what it is.

"Some View." You speak in horrid tones. Her words make no impression, but just because there is no record doesn't erase the facts. The beach is a favorite. Her sounds are not made by those on this shore, and she's come a long way by dubious means to be in this concrete stamp. There are past friends in the future.

It takes quite a lot of radiation to bring you along. Mass and gravity. Once it's begun; inevitable. You drop your pack in a square room, with table and chair, couch and tv, broken mirror and the beginning of christmas lights, her old classmates and exchange program vets, introduction and pot. And a couch, maybe more. You have no problem taking what's given, and road kill is godsend.

Your mind reels. Potent stuff, and a night of bonding complete. No rejection; absorption. Standing on concrete, you watch lights play out over the hills. Squadrons, paramilitary air support looking back through sights; it's possible. This view interests those new friends of yours, wavelengths mesh, and you begin to believe in yourself, how you've found it: belongings.

You sit in a room with them all, not all, but many. Remaining in one place, more or less, with powers and responsibilities of a low but noticeable magnitude. Tenuous roots embed, expand. A schedule of sorts, time meaning something besides departure. Love?

And you are surrounded, suspended on nothing, no base, no lid, wide open, a part of the scene, and you are engulfed. Flesh-body-soul enter those around you, the choice bits going to the blonde who brought you in, and nothing remains but contentedness.

title: The Traveler

question: Who is the girl?

answer: She is going the same way as the narrator.

text: The story and the narrator do not explain who the girl is.


text:
**Depot Town**

Last night I went to a party in Depot Town with Steve. The whole event was promoted by the tenants as a house show for local bands, although equally devoted to everyone's thirst for cheap beer and vigorous ego stroking. I changed my outfit about seven times before deciding on a pale pink dress and black cardigan. It was clear mere minutes after arriving that my little pink number didn't stand a chance. I was simply not punk enough to be here. Not even my tactfully applied black eyeshadow could fool this crowd into thinking I had any shred of underground grit to me. The sentiment of disconnect was only exaggerated by several forehead tattoos, ironic leather booty shorts, and 40-something skinheads with gray chest hair popping out of Black Flag v-necks. But for the sake of this recount, let me set aside my own ego and admit that I was probably just invisible.

And so I did as I always do when subjected to totally normal social functions. I threw back three beers, fidgeted fervently and embraced my anonymity.

The first person I spoke to aside from Steve was this guy named Kristov. I had met Kristov a few weeks earlier at a bar called Sidetracks. I remembered only his name and our brief acknowledgement of each others' self-deprecating humor. Kristov wears a grey wool trench coat and gaudy septum ring. Kristov has pale skin and black irises. Kristov likes Joy Division and writes slam poetry.

He gave me this breathy confession that he'd recently subscribed to a life of sobriety, and that parties like this were becoming a burden. I nodded my head and smiled, said nothing. I guess it just seemed the kind of topic that ought to be sustained by the initiator. But for the sake of this recount, let me say that over my dead body was I about to politely endure any straightedge superiority propaganda. But Kristov ultimately concluded that I was most definitely interested as to why he now so nobly abstains from Pabst Blue Ribbon. Or maybe he just if he felt like talking about it.

"I get angry. I get really fucking angry when I drink. I get angry because I'm sad, I'm so sad, all of the time. But the last time I got drunk I threw a metal folding chair at someone's head. And then I punched him. I punched him until I watched two teeth pop out of his jaw. I didn't even know his name. I can't remember if he even did anything to upset me. When I woke up the next morning, I looked down at my knuckles and cried. I cried for hours. I felt like dying. I felt like dying for weeks."

He had broken eye contact with me halfway through his monologue but my eyes were locked on his face. My heart was pounding like an addict with an itch. These kinds of interactions with people had always been my raison d'etre. I wanted so badly to relate to this person. I wanted so badly to share with him the last time that I felt like dying, and that I thought his exposition was gorgeous in the same way I fall in love with stories of passionate criminals, and that I felt this great, misplaced privilege to be the one who was listening to him in that moment.

And so began the manic panic for an encapsulating reply. But I did as I always do when subjected to totally normal social functions. I miraculously rematerialized into a fucking stone. I offered this person a sentiment so vapid I swear to god it felt like cheap plastic sliding past my teeth.

"You made a mistake and then you made a change, based on how you felt about your mistake. That's really good.".

I could feel us both wince at my reply. His discomfort was almost audible. My fingers pinched the base of my wrist. My teeth bit the inside of my cheek as another opportunity for me to authentically interact with another human being passed, just as quickly as it came. We exchanged "Yeah"'s and returned to our posts. Mine being at Steve's side, his in the kitchen.

title: I need unadulterated feedback. Is this story worth building further? Or does it bore you entirely? Any comments would be greatly appreciated.

question: Why is the narrator dissatisfied with her choice of dress?

answer: She thinks it doesn't match her personality, but that its better than not being part of the freestyle punk crowd

critique: The story doesn't say she thinks the dress doesn't match her personality.

critique: The narrator does not think her dress does not match her personality, but rather she thinks she does not fit in with the crowd.

critique: The answer is vaguely worded and does not really answer the question.

critique: This makes little sense. The model should read the text instead of guessing at it.

critique: "She thinks it doesn't match her personality, but that its better than not being part of the freestyle punk crowd" - this is not the reason the narrator is dissatisfied with her choice of dress.

critique: The answer is not clear and needs to be rewritten.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator thinks she's not punk enough.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator thinks she is not punk enough to be at the party.

critique: The answer doesn't mention how no one may have noticed her.

critique: It is omitted that the party turned out to be not quite the right fit for her.

critique: The dress doesn't match her personality because she's not punk enough

critique: The narrator is not satisfied with her choice of dress because she feels it doesn't match her personality.

critique: While it's true that the narrator sees her dress as too not punk enough, there is more to the story than that

critique: The narrator is not satisfied with her dress because she is not punk enough for the crowd.

critique: The narrator is not dissatisfied with her dress. She is dissatisfied with the party.

question: Why has Kristov stopped drinking alcohol?

answer: Kristov became violent when drunk and threw a chair at someone's head and punched them until they had two teeth pop out of their jaw.

critique: The sentence does not make sense and should be rewritten.

critique: Kristov's answer to the question is not in the story.

critique: The answer can identify Kristov has behaved violently when he was drunk. but it didn't say what was the reason he went on a straightedge spree.

critique: This is not the reason Kristov gave and there is a lot more to his story than this.

critique: The response misses to mention the reason why Kristov became violent.

critique: It's not confirmed that Kristov actually did that, but he says that he could get angry and that he could.

critique: The answer should add in why Kristov didn't stop drinking alcohol in the first place.

critique: This answer is too vague. It doesn't mention the reason. "He told me that he gets angry when he drinks and gets violent, but the last time he drank, he got so angry that he threw a metal chair at someone's head and punched them until they had two teeth pop out of their jaw. He was crying the next day and felt like dying, so he decided he wasn't going to drink anymore." is a better answer.

critique: This answer is not connected to Kristov's sobriety.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: "I get angry. I get really fucking angry when I drink. I get angry because I'm sad, I'm so sad, all of the time."

critique: The answer should mention that Kristov felt bad about his actions.

text: The answer omits that for weeks after the incident, Kristov was so depressed, he felt like dying.

category: coverage

refinement: Kristov became violent when drunk and threw a chair at someone's head and punched them until they had two teeth pop out of their jaw.

question: Why did the conversation come to an abrupt end?

answer: Lacking the response that he deserves and expecting one that he would have formed on her own, he uncomfortable breaks eye contact with her and dematerializes.

critique: "Lacking the response that he deserves and expecting one that he would have formed on her own, he uncomfortable breaks eye contact with her and dematerializes." - this is inaccurate. Kristov was the one who was uncomfortable.

critique: "he uncomfortable breaks eye contact with her and dematerializes" - is incorrect. Kristov is the one who was uncomfortable, not the narrator.

critique: "Lacking the response that he deserves and expecting one that he would have formed on her own, he uncomfortable breaks eye contact with her and dematerializes." - the response he deserves is not mentioned. "Expecting one that she would have formed on her own" is not mentioned either.

critique: The answer is too speculative and needs a different response.

critique: This answer is different from the one that the story presents. The answer in the text has to do with what the narrator said.

critique: The response is not related to the question.

text: The reason for the conversation to end was the generic, unrelating sentiment offered by the narrator, which made both of them uncomfortable.

refinement: Lacking the response that he deserves and expecting one that he would have formed on her own, he uncomfortable breaks eye contact with her and dematerializes.

question: How did the narrator meet Steve?

answer: It's not mentioned.

critique: "It's not mentioned." - the story does mention where the narrator met Steve. Rewrite the answer.

critique: It did occur at a party, though that's not mentioned specifically.

critique: There's a line in the story that says they met at a party.

critique: This is false and misleading. They both went to the same party.

critique: "It's not mentioned." - is a poor response given that the narrator mentioned seeing Steve at a party at Sidetracks.

critique: It's not mentioned in the story, but it's implied that they met through a mutual friend.

critique: The story mentions that the narrator met Steve at a bar called Sidetracks.


text:
This is a repost of a small stand-alone excerpt that I submitted last night with some formatting issues. It was my first ever reddit post and thanks to a friendly comment I believe I have addressed the issues. Hopefully this version will be more legible, thanks again for reading! - side note - this is somewhat of a practice exercise for me as I haven't written anything in quite a while. I wanted to fiddle around with some duplicitous layering

Just south of a small mountain range, a cool spring breeze passed through a stone monastery. The overgrown ivy covering the northern face of the building danced as the wind tickled its bountiful growth. From the top of the smooth cut stone structure the ivy had crept to meet the rocky cliff face upon which the monastery was perched. Green ivy, grey rock, and beige stone lay against a backdrop of deep, clear blue, as the sky was brimming with colour at the onset of the new season. The monastery was a large, square compound, with four stone parapets at each corner of the building, the northernmost being flush against the cliff face. At the centre was a circular courtyard, filled with beds of flowers and shrubs around the perimeter of the courtyard. Forming this perimeter were a series of stone pillars, the bases of which were buried beneath the lush green of the plants. Atop one of the pillars was a nest of sparrows, and the birds fluttered around the courtyard, singing cheerfully.

That friendly mountain breeze made its way into the courtyard, towards a simple wooden bench that faced the mild warmth of the afternoon sun. It brushed aside the hem of a white robe, cooling the ankles of the monk sitting alone on the bench. He was an old man, whose ample belly was poorly disguised by his simple clothes, yet his face had retained its youthful glow, enhanced by his bald pate gleaming in the sunlight. His eyes squinted against the sun as he smiled contentedly, listening to the sparrows’ concert and taking in the fresh growth of greenery. His smile widened as he heard the faint clapping of sandaled feet on stone tiles. The dim sound grew in resonance as the footsteps approached, and from his seat on the bench the monk called out cheerfully,

“Good afternoon, Brother,”

The newcomer emerged from within the monastery, coming into view, similarly clothed in a white habit, yet a bit younger than his colleague. Unlike the seated monk, he was quite thin, and though he was not smiling, he had an honest, open face.

“May I join you?”

“Of course! Please sit.”

The slender monk then held up the jug and two cups he had been holding, and smiled faintly, to which the older monk laughed and patted him on the shoulder as he lowered himself onto the bench.

“I suppose it is never too early to celebrate such a fine day” he said.

The second man carefully poured a cup of red wine, and passed it to his companion, after which he poured himself a cup. For several minutes they both sat in silence, sipping their wine and admiring the courtyard and its garden. Finally, the thinner monk placed his cup on the ground next to the jug of wine, and fixed his gaze on the heavyset monk.

“The vote is tomorrow, the monastery is in a furor, it is quite a nuisance.”

The older monk chuckled and returned the look, “I have been through many such votes, and this is by far the most tiresome of them all.”

Not known for outbursts of laughter, the younger monk gave a hearty grin, flashing what teeth he had left before remarking, “We are priests, not politicians, my friend. I should say this is ill befitting our station. Such ambition is better left to the less morally inclined.”

In response his companion simply smiled, looked down at his cup, and took a sip, his light grey eyes surveying the wine like a hawk watched a rabbit. The younger man likewise took a sip, his eyes watching his friend as he swallowed the warm red liquid.

“Brother,” he said, smiling, “I’m afraid you’ve besmirched your habit.”

The larger monk stared at him, watching his eyes and his smug expression as he slowly reached his arm towards his friend’s throat, only to gently place his slender finger upon a red stain at the collar of the robe. The culprit was not hidden, as a line of red was visible on the large monk’s cup from where the wine had spilled.

Breaking eye contact and looking down at his lap, the bald man laughed, tut-tutting to himself, “That won’t do at all,” he said.

“Yes,” his friend said slowly, looking at the patch of red, “that stain must be removed.”

“Or perhaps, I could simply find a way to hide it,” he said as he watched the thin man, “with so many habits and so many monks, I’m sure there are more than a few concealed stains amongst our ranks.”

The skinny monk’s face bore an expression of sincere contemplation as his eyes bored into the large monk’s robe, “Perhaps,” he said.

He reached down to collect the jug and his own cup, rising from the bench. His robe had gone into disarray, and he quietly adjusted it before turning back towards the older monk. They shared a warm smile as each stared at the other, with the hefty monk raising his cup in front of his sharp grey eyes as he said through grinning teeth, “My thanks, for the drink, Brother.”

The thin man nodded to him, and headed for the interior of the monastery, his sandals playing the same song against the stone that they had when he approached, only this time in reverse. As the song faded to nothing, the solitary monk once more perked his eyes and ears toward the chattering sparrows.

The sun was still out, the sky was still blue, the garden was still radiant, and the birds still sang. As he finished his wine, the monk contemplated the one thing he knew with certainty on that beautiful day. For himself, or the man who just left, there would be no sun, no sky, no garden, no birds, no wine, waiting for them tomorrow. Only death. He decided then that he had not yet had his fill of such marvelous spring days.

	“Now then,” he said, laboriously rising from the bench, “I suppose I should see about removing this stain.”

title: [FN] The White Habit

question: Summarize the biggest point of contention in the story.

answer: The vote is coming up and the monks are debating whether the brother who is campaigning on behalf of the order should be elected as the new leader.

critique: This doesn't really summarize the biggest point of contention

critique: The monks are not debating whether the brother who is campaigning on behalf of the order should be elected as the new leader.

critique: The monks are not campaigning for the order. They are debating whether they should remove the stains on their habits.

critique: The monks are not campaigning for the order.

critique: The monks are not debating whether the brother who is campaigning on behalf of the order should be elected as the new leader. They are debating whether the brother who is campaigning on behalf of the order should be elected as the new leader.

critique: The context of the election is unclear. It seems that the monks are electing a new leader.

critique: The monks are not debating whether the brother should be elected as the new leader, but whether the brother should be elected as the new leader.

question: Explain the meaning and/or symbolism of the wine stain on the monk's habit.

answer: The wine stain on the monk's habit symbolizes the corruption of the monastery. The wine stain is also a metaphor for the stain on the monk's soul.

critique: The wine stain is a metaphor for the stain on the monk's soul, not the monastery.

critique: The wine stain is not a metaphor for the stain on the monk's soul.

critique: "for the stain on the monk's soul." - unnecessary and can be deleted.

question: Summarize what the vote is.

answer: The vote is about the future of the monastery. The monks are voting on whether to continue to be monks or to become politicians.

critique: The answer is inaccurate. The vote is not about the future of the monastery, but about whether to remove a stain from a habit.

critique: The monks are not voting on whether to become politicians.

critique: The vote is about the future of the monastery, but the monks are not voting on whether to continue to be monks or to become politicians.

critique: The monks are voting on whether to continue to be monks or to become politicians.

critique: The monks are not voting on whether to continue to be monks or to become politicians.

critique: The monks are not voting on whether to become politicians. They are voting on whether to remove a stain from a habit.

text: This answer is inaccurate; the reason for the vote is not stated in the story.

question: Summarize the differences between the two monks.

answer: The smaller monk is thin, young, and does not smile often. He is very serious about the pressing matter of the vote for the monastery; he asks about it directly. The larger monk is bald and older, with a very round belly. He is not very serious and seems jovial, but also observant. He also seems clever.

critique: The larger monk is observant, but it's not said that he is clever.

critique: "He is very serious about the pressing matter of the vote for the monastery; he asks about it directly" - this is incorrect. The thin monk is serious about the vote, but doesn't ask about it directly. The larger monk talks about the vote.

critique: The answer omits the most important difference between the monks.

critique: The answer should mention that the larger monk is more clever.

critique: The answer should mention that the larger monk is more devious.

critique: There is no direct mention of the vote being so important as to warrant the lack of frivolity from the smaller monk.

critique: The larger monk is observant and clever, not the smaller one.

text: The answer should say that the smaller monk does not laugh often rather than that he does not smile often.


text:
SYED AFSAR MADAD NAQVI (; 10 August 193311 January 1997), was a prominent 20th-century's sculptor. He is best known for his pure realistic monumental sculptures which can be seen in many places around the country (such as Roshan Khan/Jahangir Khan Squash Complex, Fleet Club, Arts Council of Pakistan, Markaz-e-Sadaat-e-Amroha Centre, Hasan Square Karachi, Star Gate Karachi, Quaid-e-Azam International Airport, Village Restaurant, Metropol Hotel etc.). Afsar Madad Naqvi was a master Pakistani sculptor and painter. He was a founder member of the Central Institute of Arts and Crafts Karachi.

[] [] [] []

Early life and education

Afsar Madad Naqvi was born in 1933 at Amroha, India. Diploma and Post-diploma from the Government College of Arts and Crafts, Lucknow, India. Trained under renowned sculptor Mohammad Hanif at Lucknow College of Arts and Crafts in the early 60s.

Career

He was one of the few qualified sculptors who could teach the technique of making life-size armature, simple casting and multiple casting with permanent moulds. He worked with great ease and facility in metals, wood, cement, Plaster of Paris, marble, stone and clay.[1]

He came to Pakistan in 1962 and shortly after that and had a solo show at the Karachi Arts Council Hall, which was also the country's first solo sculpture exhibition. When Mr. Nawabzada Wajid Mehmood founded the Central Institute of Arts and Crafts, he requested him to set up the sculpture studio and he have lived up to this responsibility since then.

Afsar Naqvi was sculptor, traditionalist, loyal friend and affectionate teacher. He had a huge following of artists in Pakistan, most of whom were his students.

His acute observation of detail, timeless dedication to craftsmanship and the innate soul of a master allows him to breathe life into any work of art from delicate pencil sketch to monumental sculptures and that is truly make him one of the world's top artists.[2]

Friend and contemporary to leading artists and literary figures, Afsar Naqvi is a quiet, retiring man and has spent the better part of the last twenty five years teaching sculpture to a generation of artists at the institute. In his work, Sir Naqvi is an exponent of the Eastern idiom. His deep rooted aesthetics of the sub-continental culture bond us to the past. Many art scholar would have us believe that Mughal miniature and folk art are our only heritage when Classical Indian art forms the very core of this region's art history.

He was highly skilled in his craft, his long finger nimbly created small figurines in clay while he carried on with his discussions, as if they had a life of their own. While fame eluded him as a Master Sculptor his skills earned high great respect and his advise was always sought in technical matters, for which he was seldom financially compensated.

Afsar Naqvi's vision and aesthetics was indelibly etched into his own creative expression and his drive to achieve the same level of perfection in his master work.

Biography (by year)

1933 – Born- Amroha, India

1960 – Diploma and Post-diploma- Government College of Arts and Crafts Lucknow, India

1962 – Migration- Pakistan, Karachi

1962 – Joined Central Institute of Art & Crafts, Karachi as Head of Sculpture Department

1963 – Solo Exhibition- Arts Council of Pakistan, Karachi

1969 – Solo Exhibition- Pakistan American Cultural Centre (P.A.C.C.)

1971 – Solo Exhibition- Indus Gallery, Karachi

1975 – Solo Exhibition- Arts Council of Pakistan, Karachi

1985 – Group Exhibition- The Fifth National Arts Exhibition, Idara Saqafat -e- Pakistan

1992 – Joined North City School of Art & Architecture, Karachi as Principle and Head of Fine Art (Sculpture) Department

1995 – Founded Bhittai Institute of Art & Crafts

1997 – Death

1997 – Solo Exhibition – A tribute to Afsar Madad Naqvi, Arts Council of Pakistan, Karachi

Specialization

Specialized in portraiture, mural work, and terra-cotta. He has done lot of masterpiece sculptures in wood, metal, plaster, cement and terra-cotta. Indian Classical sculpture, Naqvi's ability to be able to capture in wood, stone or metal the essence of a narrative moment with a dramatic naturalistic realism.

Notes

[1] Amroha Society Pakistan,

[2] Syed Hasan Naqvi, http://afsarnaqvi.wordpress.com/

title: Afsar Madad Naqvi

question: What is Syed Afsar Madad Naqvi's educational background?

answer: He received a diploma and post-diploma from the Government College of Arts and Crafts, Lucknow, India. He was trained under renowned sculptor Mohammad Hanif at Lucknow College of Arts and Crafts in the early 60s.

critique: The answer should mention that Naqvi was born in 1933.

critique: The answer omits that Naqvi attended the Government College of Arts and Crafts, Lucknow, India.

critique: The answer should mention that he was born in 1933.

critique: "He was trained under renowned sculptor Mohammad Hanif at Lucknow College of Arts and Crafts in the early 60s." - this is irrelevant because it's not part of his educational background. This should be removed.

critique: The answer could be phrased as a complete sentence.

critique: The answer is not in chronological order.

critique: It misses to mention that he studied at Government College of Arts and Crafts, Lucknow, India

question: What made Naqvi's art so unique?

answer: He was a master Pakistani sculptor and painter. He was a founder member of the Central Institute of Arts and Crafts Karachi. He was one of the few qualified sculptors who could teach the technique of making life-size armature, simple casting and multiple casting with permanent moulds. He worked with great ease and facility in metals, wood, cement, Plaster of Paris, marble, stone and clay.

critique: The answer is a summary of Naqvi's career, not an answer to the question.

critique: Remove the information about him founding the institute since that is not the reason for his being unique

critique: The response does not answer the question.

critique: The answer is not a direct response to the question.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

question: Why did Naqvi never achieve fame?

answer: This information can't be found.

critique: The article does mention that Naqvi was a quiet, retiring man.

critique: The question is not asking why Naqvili isn't well-known, but why he never achieved Fame.

critique: The article mentions that fame eluded Naqvi, so the answer to this question can be found in the article.

critique: The article has a lot of information about Naqvi's career, so it's possible to answer this question.

question: Why was Naqvi respected by his community?

answer: He was respected by his community for his mastery of sculpture and his ability to teach those skills to others.

critique: The answer omits Naqvi's quiet, retiring personality, which is also a reason for his respect.

critique: The answer should mention his quiet, retiring nature.

critique: This response is not fully accurate and needs to be re-written.

critique: The text doesn't mention that he taught those skills to others.

critique: The answer omits Naqvi's other skills and contributions to the community.

critique: The answer should clarify that his teaching did not result in compensation.

critique: The answer could be more specific about what made Naqvi a respected teacher.


text:
I wrote this in eighth grade, and I didn't put context around it.

Hank and Justin hurried out of the SUV and began making their way across the icy road when a misty figure, about six feet tall, materialized in the distance. It began striding towards them, hunched over, with a long, loping gait. Hank, slipping on the slick ground, turned around and retrieved his rifle from the back of the vehicle, running back to join Justin.

The figure continued to lope steadily towards them. Whenever it left the illumination of a streetlight, it was nearly invisible against the backdrop of the cold, dark night.

“What good will a rifle do against him?” asked Justin.

“Do you have a better idea?” Hank replied. He unchecked the safety on the gun and bolted into the familiar winery, with Justin following hastily, covering the large cube under his traveling cloak. They hurried down the trapdoor behind the dusty counter, slamming it shut behind them. They ran down to the maintenance elevator, hearing the trap open again above them, the misty figure starting to descend down the creaking staircase.

“Quick, what’s the passcode?” asked Justin hurriedly, fumbling to get his glove off.

“Six, five, two, nine, pound,” said Hank.

Justin typed in the passcode and hastily slipped his glove back on. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, hopping slightly from his left to right foot in anxiety as they waited. The elevator came up at a painfully slow pace, the misty figure drawing ever nearer.

Hank spun around and fired once into the figure’s chest. The round passed right through its body, momentarily dispersing a small area in its chest, particles floating back to repair the hole in its torso.

“It’s no good,” Justin trembled. “Look away and close your eyes. Don’t open them until I say so!”

Hank averted his eyes.

Justin quickly took the cube out from under his cloak and unzipped the case. Holding it by the case, he looked away and held it out towards the figure. Blinding light shone out of the cube, brighter than the sun, and engulfed the misty creature, dissolving it and sending a thousand tiny particles zooming away in a thousand different directions. A smell of ammonia lingered in the air where the figure had once stood.

Zipping up the case again, Justin breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe! “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he said to Hank. Hank turned around. “You used the artifact? That was incredibly dangerous, do you have any idea what could have happened?”

*Ding.*

“No time,” said Justin, pointing at the small green light above the elevator. “Our ride’s here.”
The two hurried onto the platform that creaked and groaned ominously to accept their weight and immediately grabbed two safety suits from the rack as they headed down. They slipped on the suits that covered everything except their eyes, then put on the filmy red glasses that would protect them from the blinding light.

*Ding.*

They stepped out into the cavernous room, staring in awe at the massive shining pyramid that stood before them. They rushed to the side and scrambled up to the top, careful not to knock any cubes over.
Justin reverently took the case off the cube and placed it on top, the final addition to the thousand-year puzzle. The cubes began to blaze even brighter than before, turning a scorching shade of red. The whole structure began to tremble slightly.

“At last,” he whispered. “It is complete.”

title: The Game

question: Describe everything that happens to the artifact Justin uses.

answer: Justin uses the artifact to dissolve the misty creature. He places the artifact in the pyramid. The pyramid starts to tremble slightly.

critique: The pyramid doesn't start to tremble after Justin places the artifact in the pyramid.

critique: The pyramid starts to tremble slightly before Justin places the artifact in the pyramid.

critique: Doesn't discuss that Justin zips the cube back into its case after using it.

critique: "He places the artifact in the pyramid." - this is incorrect. Justin places the cube on top of the pyramid.

critique: The pyramid doesn't begin to tremble until after Justin places the artifact.

critique: It's omitted that the artifact is a cube.

question: What is the nature of the thing that follows Hank and Justin?

answer: It is unclear what the thing is, but it is a misty figure that can pass through solid objects.

critique: The answer could be clearer in its pronoun use.

critique: "but it is a misty figure that can pass through solid objects." - it's not clear if the thing is a ghost or a spirit.

critique: It is not clear that it can pass through solid objects.

critique: It is not clear that the thing is a misty figure that can pass through solid objects.

critique: It is also invisible in darkness, though there is light.


text:
   They were sitting on the floor playing video games, laughing about how terrible she is at the game. She watched his face light up with a laugh and it was as though time slowed down. She saw his smile spread through his lips, up to his eyes. It seemed genuine. In this moment, like each time they talk, Charlotte had a crippling fear that bubbled within her throat; it was as though her mind will have the words planned out, but her heart will say something entirely different. Do something different, something bad. Something that could be so detrimental to her social life, ripping it from its very roots and throwing it into a deep valley of Netflix and takeout on a Saturday night. Each time they come face to face, this very threat is there. One mistake, one wrong look could change things forever. She knew this was long coming, this love that was built upon drunken nights, early mornings, awful professors, and ever-lasting sexual tension—a love that came to be in college.

   Freshman year is where it all started for Charlotte. It was an innocent encounter, a merging of two groups of friends the first night of college. She ended up in his room, in Henry’s room, that night with several other people they had met. From there, it was inevitable. She had been used to busy day in high school, full of class, extracurricular activities, and of course studying. He was used to school and studying, and a strict social life, or lack thereof. So when the two finally emerged from their tight schedules of high school, they landed into this world of empty hours and open bars. The only thing that stopped this pair from sprinting into a whirlwind relationship was the fact that Henry had a girlfriend, a girl whom Charlotte actually knew from elementary school. Henry and her had been together for at least a year prior to entering this extraordinary life that is college.

   Having a girlfriend never stopped this friendship. He always texted Charlotte, asking if she was free for dinner, or wanted to study together. This trend continued for so long, so many of those empty hours were spent together doing nothing; playing video games, talking about nonsense. Soon they grew so comfortable together, their conversations changed. They drifted from discussions based around schoolwork and friends, to the girlfriend and sex. Oh, the conversations about sex were in plenty, he knew what she liked and what she wanted. She knew what he had trouble with in regards to his girlfriend, and she ever so dutifully gave him advice to help the couple in bed.  The advice about the girlfriend was not limited to sexual advice however. Henry asked Charlotte about real, emotional relationship issues. She actually had the opportunity to tell him to break up with the girlfriend several times, but she stayed true to being his friend and helped work them out.
While sex, or at least the intriguing topic of sex, was a prominent focus in their friendship, the conversations about themselves and family are what stood out the most. She talked about her depressed father, and how that put such a strain on her family. He held her when she cried about losing a friend. She smiled and laughed and he talked about his old pets, and his cute sister. It took him longer though, longer to open up to her. He told her that she was the only one to know some things about him. About how he had been depressed for so long, how he hates being alone, how very few things make him happy. She wanted to make him happy, she wanted to be the reason he smiled. She saw him smile and laugh so often, but she could only wonder if it was all an act, or if she did in fact make him laugh. He did not know though, he was unaware of the things she wished for, oblivious to how he made her feel.

   This unawareness that Henry held in regards to Charlotte was obvious by his manners, if only he knew how she felt. Sometimes the two would walk into an empty room and he would declare that they should fuck. It was all a joke of course, a joke to him. To her, it was as though someone was slowly breaking her heart—anyone could see it behind her plastered on smile, not Henry though. He became her worst enemy and her ultimate fantasy all rolled into one. She wanted him to be so much, to be there for her in a way that means more than friendship, to make her smile and cry with joy. She knew in her heart that he would never be those things.

   Charlotte was aware that he was sexually attracted to her, he was never vague about that. One night, she confessed to him that while she joked about sex all the time, all she really wanted was love. He said he understood and they chatted about it for a while. Later that same night though, he told her about how he and his roommate had come to the decision that Charlotte would be a solid lay. Such conversations were not unusual. Once, when they were gathered with a group of friends, they jokingly speculated on whether or not Henry and Charlotte would make a good couple. Henry stated that they would, at least for a month because it would all be physical. Each one of these was a blow to her. A reminder that he did not see her as anything more than a friend and would never be anything more than that.

   All of these memories came crashing back to Charlotte as she watched him laugh while playing video games. It  has been over a year and it is time for her to move on, she knows that because they’re friendship will never be more than what it is. From their first meeting, it was inevitable, not friendship nor love, but heartbreak.

title: Videogames

question: Summarize the main tension in the story.

answer: The main tension in the story is that one character, Charlotte, is in love with their friend Henry but Henry doesn't know that he isn't just a friend to her. He is unaware of the things she feels for him, that she wishes she could be with him in a more romantic way. Usually their sexual tension takes the form of flirting and inappropriate jokes but is clear to the reader that Charlotte is trying to catch Henry's attention by making it clear that she is available to him as a potential romantic interest.

critique: The answer does not mention the other tension in the story.

critique: The answer is not clear about the fact that Charlotte is in love with Henry.

critique: The answer is quite long and could be summarized.

critique: The answer doesn't mention the fact that Henry has a girlfriend.

critique: Charlotte's feelings are not the only source of tension.

critique: "Usually their sexual tension takes the form of flirting and inappropriate jokes" is conjecture

critique: Charlotte's feelings are more than just sexual and romantic interest

critique: The second sentence is incorrect and should be removed.

critique: The last sentence isn't quite accurate and sounds more like it's stating Charlotte's opinion of why Henry doesn't acknowledge her feelings.

critique: The cause of Charlotte's constant heartache and social withdrawal: the fact that Henry is dating someone else.

critique: The answer should be clearer about who feels the tension: Charlotte.

critique: The answer is not clear about the fact that Henry is in a relationship.

critique: The answer should mention that Charlotte is afraid of how their relationship will change if Henry finds out how she feels.

critique: "The main tension in the story is that one character, Charlotte, is in love with their friend Henry but Henry doesn't know that he isn't just a friend to her. He is unaware of the things she feels for him, that she wishes she could be with him in a more romantic way. Usually their sexual tension takes the form of flirting and inappropriate jokes but is clear to the reader that Charlotte is trying to catch Henry's attention by making it clear that she is available to him as a potential romantic interest." - this is incorrect. The tension is that Charlotte is in love with Henry, but he doesn't know that she wants him to be more than a friend.

question: What does the story say about marriage?

answer: No answer

critique: No answer is given, but the story does mention the fact that Henry has a girlfriend.

critique: There is no answer because the story does not mention marriage.

critique: The answer is empty but it can be assumed that a major event in the narrator's life is marriage because she has formed a connection with Henry.

critique: No answer is given, but the story does mention a marriage.

question: What does the story say about Henry?

answer: Henry is the person Charlotte has feelings for. They used to be friends in middle school, and in college, they drift from topics about school, friends to the topics about sex and girlfriend. Henry helped Charlotte with her sexual problems and her emotional relationship issues, especially with her depressed father. She confided to Henry about her feelings for him, and vice versa. Henry told Charlotte that she'll be a solid lay for him.

critique: It should be added that Henry has a girlfriend.

critique: The answer should mention that Henry has a girlfriend.

critique: He's a friend of Charlotte, not her boyfriend.

critique: The last two sentences don't really relate to Henry at all. They should be deleted.

critique: The story does not say that Charlotte and Henry used to be friends in middle school.

critique: "Henry helped Charlotte with her sexual problems and her emotional relationship issues, especially with her depressed father." - this is inaccurate. Charlotte used to give Henry advice about his relationship with his girlfriend.

critique: The response could be clearer in its pronoun use.

critique: This is not evidence of Henry's feelings for Charlotte.

critique: The answer omits that Henry has a girlfriend.

critique: The answer omits that Henry had a girlfriend.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

text: The answer should state that Charlotte is in love with Henry and that she fears his reaction if he finds out.

refinement: Henry is the person Charlotte has feelings for. They used to be friends in middle school, and in college, they drift from topics about school, friends to the topics about sex and girlfriend. Henry helped Charlotte with her sexual problems and her emotional relationship issues, especially with her depressed father. She confided to Henry about her feelings for him, and vice versa. Henry told Charlotte that she'll be a solid lay for him.


text:
First the explosion. Deafening. Then the pain. Excruciating. Then the blackness. Oblivion. It was all in front of him as he planned the shot. Yet to happen, but predetermined by people who sought this man’s bloody and sudden end.

Will calculated the distance, wind, angle and speed of all the factors and event that would occur before his bullet slammed through the man’s heart. His breathing steadied, he cleared his mind of all doubt he would miss, he squeezed the trigger.

First the explosion as the bullet left the barrel. Sound deafening. The pain as the bullet entered the man’s chest and pierced his heart. Excruciating thoughts entered his mind as he realized his fate. Then blackness as he fell, entering oblivion before his still warm body collapsed to the stage.

Panic. The crowd scattered at the sight of their Leader collapsing from an unknown missile. Shock. His family and guard scramble to his fallen side. Realization. Heads swivel looking for the culprit. Determination. The chase begins as sirens screech and voices are raised. Hope. A rifle sighted in a window, a black clad man fleeing the scene.

Will realized his mistake as he sprinted down the fire escape. He hadn’t thoroughly inspected his escape route, seeing now all too late the 4 metre drop awaiting him where an old rusty ladder had broken off years ago. There was no going back the sirens were getting closer and he knew he didn’t have enough time to find another way out. He jumped. Rolling as he landed to break the fall helped only so much, realizing now the crack he heard had come from his ankle.

He limped down the alley to where his motorbike awaited him on the street, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as the adrenaline spread through his system. The sirens reached the building and surrounded it cutting off all exits from the street as they did so. All except for one. Will forced his helmet on and jumped on his bike, feeling it come alive beneath him he surged away back down the alley. The sirens now turned away from the building towards the man making his getaway. The chase was on.

Will snaked between traffic as he fled down streets and alleys. The sirens still on his tail as he sped dangouresly through another intersection. A helicopter’s blades spun overhead, its massive eye shining a bright light to the ground below as it searched for any sign of the fleeing suspect.

The eye turned, its light striking him as he sped between a pair of sirens attempting to block the road. The way forward was cast almost completely out of view as the light from above blinded him. He turned, hoping to get away from the blinding light and back on to his original escape route. The bridge he needed to cross was only a few more blocks away, he knew once he got there that his escape would be guaranteed.

He sped through another alley and found himself on a familiar street on the opposite side, the eye above had momentarily lost sight of him and now was his chance to make for the bridge. Bike in full rev he sped forwards following the bend in the road. As he rounded the corner the bridge came into view, as did the fact that it was now parted in two and raised far above the water.

Sirens blared loudly behind him, he had no other option they would close in on him soon and the eye would set his sights on him. He couldn’t run forever, he had to make the jump. He shot forward like a bullet out of a gun gaining as much speed as he could before he had to make the distance over the water. 300 metres. 200.100. 50. 25… he saw them too late.

Road spikes lain out just before the bridge. Trying to stop he skid out of control and hit the spikes on an angle. The bike stopped instantly as its tires caught the spikes and he was thrown forward tumbling into the air. Slamming into the ground he skidded and rolled the remaining 10 metres to the foot of the bridge. His helmet and jacket the only thing keeping him alive on the rough tarmac.

He sat up, dazed and confused he took off his helmet to alleviate some of the pain from his brain thrashing around in his skull only seconds before. Amazed he was still alive he began to stand up, wincing at the pain in his ankle and the new pain that he now felt from his broken left arm. The sirens closed in on him, surrounding him. It was all a trap, how they knew he had no clue. He looked up, guns were being drawn level with him. He started to raise his own.

First the explosion. Deafening. Then the pain. Excruciating. Then the blackness. Oblivion.

title: [AA,RF] We Live for Oblivion

question: Summarize the pinnacle of action in the story.

answer: The pinnacle of action in the story is when Will realizes his mistake as he sprints down the fire escape. He had not thoroughly inspected his escape route, seeing now all too late the 4 meter drop awaiting him where an old rusty ladder had broken off years ago. He jumps, rolling as he lands to break the fall helped only so much. He realizes the crack he heard had come from his ankle.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

critique: The response is missing the critical detail of Will being shot by the police.

text: The response is missing the description of the initial explosion as well as the assassination that Will commits.

question: Summarize why Will is on the lam.

answer: Will plans to assassinate the man who is the leader of a country. He misses the shot and runs away on a motorbike.

critique: "Will plans to assassinate the man who is the leader of a country. He misses the shot and runs away on a motorbike." - needs to be refined to include that the man is the leader of a country and is on stage.

text: Will does hit his target, and the Leader is said to collapse.


text:
MICHAEL L. THURMOND (born 5 January 1953) is the Chief Executive Officer of DeKalb County, Georgia and was a representative in the Georgia Assembly. He is also an attorney, author, and lecturer.

Thurmond served as the interim superintendent of the DeKalb County School District, the third largest district in the state of Georgia from 2013 to 2015. The district serves nearly 99,000 students with over 13,400 employees. Thurmond was the Democratic Party's nominee for United States Senate in 2010. He was also one of the last Democrats to win statewide in Georgia until 2020, when Joe Biden won the presidential election.

Prior to becoming DeKalb's Schools Superintendent, Thurmond was an attorney at Butler Wooten Cheeley & Peak LLP, a nationally known civil trial practice that has four times set the record civil jury verdict in the State of Georgia and also obtained for its client the largest collected judgment in U.S. history.

Early life

Thurmond was raised as a sharecropper's son in Clarke County, Georgia. He graduated _cum laude_ with a B.A. in Philosophy and Religion from Paine College and later earned a Juris Doctor degree from the University of South Carolina School of Law.[1] He also completed the Political Executives program at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University.

Political career

In 1986, he became the first African-American elected to the Georgia General Assembly from Clarke County since Reconstruction. During his legislative tenure, Thurmond authored major legislation that has provided more than $250 million in tax relief to Georgia's senior citizens and working families.

Following his legislative service, he led the state Division of Family and Children's Services and directed Georgia's historic transition from welfare to work. He created the innovative Work First program, which helped over 90,000 welfare-dependent Georgia families move from dependence into the workforce.

In 1997, Thurmond became a distinguished lecturer at the University of Georgia Carl Vinson Institute of Government. The following year in November, he was elected Georgia Labor Commissioner, becoming the first non-incumbent African American to be elected to statewide office in Georgia.

During his three terms as commissioner, the Georgia Labor Department underwent a major transformation in customer service and efficiency. His Georgia Works program has earned national praise and bi-partisan support. President Barack Obama based part of the American Jobs Act after the Georgia Works model. Thurmond's most gratifying accomplishment as a public official was the construction of a $20 million school for young people with disabilities at the historic Roosevelt Institute in Warm Springs, Georgia.

In 2016, Thurmond decided to run for the open DeKalb County C.E.O.'s office being vacated by term-limited incumbent Democrat Burrell Ellis. He won overwhelmingly in the Democratic Primary, and went on to win by a significant margin over his Republican opponent in the November 2016 General Election. Thurmond began his four-year term on January 1, 2017.

He is the recipient of two honorary doctorate degrees from Clark Atlanta University and LaGrange College. Thurmond has also served as a motivational speaker to state school board associations in nine Southern states on issues regarding leadership, diversity, and public education advocacy in the 21st century.

He presently serves on the Board of Curators of the Georgia Historical Society.

Publications

Thurmond's book, _Freedom: Georgia's Antislavery Heritage, 1733-1865,_[2] was awarded the Georgia Historical Society's Lilla Hawes Award.[3] The Georgia Center for the Book listed _Freedom_ on its 2005 list of The 25 Books All Georgians Should Read.[4]

Personal life

He is married to Zola Fletcher Thurmond, and they have one daughter, Mikaya Thurmond.

U.S. Senate campaign

In April 2010, Thurmond announced his intention to challenge incumbent Republican Senator Johnny Isakson.[5] He easily defeated his opponent in the Democratic primary, county employee RJ Hadley, on July 20.[6] He lost the general election to Isakson and was succeeded as Commissioner of Labor by former state representative Mark Butler (U.S. politician), a member of the Republican Party.

Notes

[1] http://www.mikethurmond2010.com/about.php

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5] AJC: Emotional Thurmond announces run for U.S. Senate

[6] AJC: U.S. Senate election results

title: Mike Thurmond

question: What does the text say about Thurmond's job history?

answer: Thurmond served as the interim superintendent of the DeKalb County School District, the third largest district in the state of Georgia from 2013 to 2015. He was the Democratic Party's nominee for United States Senate in 2010. He was also one of the last Democrats to win statewide in Georgia until 2020, when Joe Biden won the presidential election. Prior to becoming DeKalb's Schools Superintendent, Thurmond was an attorney at Butler Wooten Cheeley & Peak LLP, a nationally known civil trial practice that has four times set the record civil jury verdict in the State of Georgia and also obtained for its client the largest collected judgment in U.S. history.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

critique: It is omitted that Thurmond was an attorney and Democratic Party's nominee for United States Senate in 2010. He is also the current Chief Executive Officer of DeKalb County, Georgia. He was raised as a sharecropper's son. He was elected to the Georgia General Assembly from Clarke County in 1986.

critique: The answer omits Thurmond's political career.

critique: It's omitted that Thurmond was elected Georgia Labor Commissioner in 1997 and began his four-year term as Chief Executive Officer of DeKalb County in 2016.

critique: "He was also one of the last Democrats to win statewide in Georgia until 2020, when Joe Biden won the presidential election." - this should be deleted.

question: What does the text say about the Republican Primaries?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that Thurmond ran as a Democrat.

critique: The question is asking for something that is not in the text.

question: What does the text say about Thurmond's degrees?

answer: Thurmond graduated cum laude with a B.A. in Philosophy and Religion from Paine College and earned a Juris Doctor degree from the University of South Carolina School of Law. He also completed the Political Executives program at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University.

critique: "He also completed" should be replaced by "He earned an"

critique: The answer should mention his honorary degrees.

critique: The answer should mention his two honorary doctorates.

critique: The answer should mention the two honorary degrees.

critique: The answer could mention Thurmond's honorary degrees.

critique: It's omitted that he also has two honorary doctorate degrees.

question: Summarize what the text says about the Democratic Party.

answer: The text mentions that Thurmond was the Democratic Party's nominee for the United States Senate in 2010. He was also one of the last Democrats to win statewide in Georgia until 2020, when Joe Biden won the presidential election.

critique: The answer should mention Thurmond's legislative career.

critique: The answer omits Thurmond's party affiliation.

critique: The response is lacking when listing Georgia politicians. Former U.S. Representative John Lewis and incumbent U.S. Representative Henry Johnson were mentioned within the article.

critique: The answer should mention the party's achievements.

critique: Doesn't mention Thurmond's legislative service.

critique: The answer should mention that Thurmond was the last Democrat to win statewide in Georgia until 2020.


text:
Alright. Today is the day. I feel inspired, I feel motivated. I can put pen to paper and finally hash out the first chapter to my next novel. A short thriller with a dash of dark humor, a comedic tragedy of sorts. Something that will leave the readers with a sense of ambiguity. Laptop is on, WordWriter 20xx is open, and now here comes...

*High atop the cityscape sat Jane. A reporter of sorts, Jane ran a blog -*

Hm... Maybe not Jane... I knew a Jane back in grade school. She was pretty and sweet, definitely smart, and we had an estranged friendship of sorts. Ah, who cares. That was so long ago and I hardly even knew her.

*A reporter of sorts, Jane ran a blog reporting on the video game industry. Her stall was in the middle of the aisle -*

I wonder what became of Jane? I think we went to different middle schools, that or we just never saw each other again. Oh, there's also the Jane Park I met in high school. Mildly overweight, dumb, and bossy. Being stuck with her in the Physics lab was probably what stifled my dreams of becoming the next Bill Nye. Heh, imagine me as a "Science Guy" of all things. Maybe I should change the name, this is getting too distracting.

*High atop the cityscape sat Sarah. A reporter of sorts, Sarah ran a blog reporting on the video game industry. Her stall was in the middle of the aisle, her body cramped between an overweight and visibly uncomfortable salesman and tomboyish young woman. Her laptop was -*

Sarah. I can't use Sarah. My memories of Sarah Bellevue are still too fresh despite the decade that has passed. There were other girls before her, there have been a few women since, but I never wronged any of them the way I did Sarah. That was the first heart I ever broke and it wasn't until years had gone by that I realized what I had done. I have no remorse toward what happened, nor do I pity her for what transpired after, but I am haunted by the idea of my naivety at the time. I admit, that is cold, but... Okay. Not Sarah.

*High atop the cityscape sat -*

Rachel? No, I knew a Rachel in College.

Michelle? Nope. My assistant is named Michelle.

Ashley? Cousin's daughter.

Carmen... Liana... Eleni? Amber. Jasmine. Aisha... Jenny? No too close to Jennifer. Christine... is my mother's name.

Mandy. Marilyn. Brittany? Tiffany. Candace. Nope, nope, nope, dated a Tiffany, nope.

BrandyHeatherChanningBriannaAmberSerenaMelodyDakotaSierraBambiCrystalSamanthaAutumRubyTaylorTaraTammyLaurenCharleneChantelleCourtneyMistyJennyKristaMindyNoelShelbyTrinaRebaCassandraNikkiKelseyShawnaJoleneUrleenClaudiaSavannahCaseyDollyKendraKylieChloeDevonEmmalou... Becky?

*High atop the cityscape sat Becky -*

Okay clearly not Becky. Becky is the name of my neighbor's overly rebellious daughter. Maybe I should just switch up the sex to move things along.

*High atop the cityscape sat John. A reporter of sorts, John ran a blog reporting on the video game -*

Oh... I forgot... John killed himself a few years ago. Of all the times to think about him... When was the last time I even saw him? His sister's wedding? Amber had been dropping hints to me to try to reconnect with him but things had just become to strained after his divorce with Amy. I guess he shouldn't have been too surprised to have caught her cheating on him given the way they had first met. I can't even remember the last thing I said to him... Twenty years of growing up together. Five years growing apart. Three years without him at all. I never sought closure after his death. I never asked the reason. I never guessed the reason. I accepted the news and carried on with my life. It was like when my mother mentioned to me that my elementary school had been torn down and the property was now empty. A part of me pined for the memories but not enough to become concerned about it. Maybe I should give Amber a call. But, for now, let's try another name.

*High atop the cityscape sat Phillip. A reporter of sorts, Phillip ran a blog reporting on the video game industry. His stall was in the middle of the aisle, his body cramped between an overweight and visibly uncomfortable salesman and tomboyish young woman. His laptop was dimly illuminated to maintain the unrealistic ideal of privacy as he skimmed over the notes he had prepared for the convention. Phillip had become popular enough to draw the attention of several notable industry leaders and was given an all-expense paid trip to report on behalf of the convention runners, GamenCorp -*

Phillip used to play football in high school. I can't remember if he kept playing in college or not, I think maybe he was injured? I'm pretty sure he and Amber were still friends in college, maybe I should ask her when I... No... I probably shouldn't call her at all. There is undoubtedly a reason why we lost touch after John left us. I don't know the reason, but I accept that there has to be one. Thirty minutes and I've hardly touched the keyboard now. Maybe I should just take a break.

*High atop the cityscape sat PLACEHOLDER. A reporter of sorts, PLACEHOLDER ran a blog reporting on the video game industry. PLACEHOLDER stall was in the middle of the aisle, PLACEHOLDER body cramped between an overweight and visibly uncomfortable salesman and tomboyish young woman. PLACEHOLDER laptop was dimly illuminated to maintain the unrealistic ideal of privacy as PLACEHOLDER skimmed over the notes PLACEHOLDER had prepared for the convention. PLACEHOLDER had become popular enough to draw the attention of several notable industry leaders and was given an all-expense paid trip to report on behalf of the convention runners, GamenCorp, to local media outlets and an exclusive video series.*

^(^(that feel when trying to pick a name for a character))

title: [RF] Any other name

question: What is the feeling that the writer is trying to convey to the reader?

answer: The feeling that is conveyed to the reader is that the writer is frustrated.

critique: "The feeling that is conveyed" implies that the narrator, who clearly isn't thrilled, is conveying the feeling to the reader.

critique: The answer should mention that the writer is frustrated because they can't come up with a name for their character.

critique: The writer is frustrated because they cannot decide on a name for the character.

critique: The answer should mention the writer's frustration with the name.