What about the characters stand out

read and comment on the submissions of otherstudents. You can start out by saying what’s strong inthe piece–it could be the pace, tone, character orsetting–and then let the writer know what questionsyou had at the end. Was there anything that took youout of the story?Respond to your classmates with helpful specificcomments. For example, if you didn’t follow a thought,ask if something was missing following a certain line.Avoid empty statements like, "I liked it," and saysomething specific as, "The choice of calling yourfriend a kibblehead was original language."Pleaseoffer honest and helpful feedback to alert the writer aboutplaces he/she might need to change or develop. Try to letpeople know what works well, and also what needs to beclearer, more original, etc.Focus on CharacterWrite and submit story #2 (approx. 5 pages if it were typed,double-spaced). This story should be particularly focused oncharacter development. As you create the story, think first ofa character whose unique qualities are so compelling that thecharacter is the most interesting component of the story. Inyour planning stages, emphasize fleshing out the characterand really getting to know the person. Do this before you addin the other elements of fiction such as the conflicts, whichbuild the plot, and the setting.Please make sure that your work is well proofread. The storythat is sent to me should be a nice polished final version. Dothe early drafts and revisions before you submit it to me.(The stories by the people scheduled to submit their work forclass discussion will be drafts, not final versions, so makesure that you understand that the assignment, here, is apolished, finished story.)Here are some criteria that will be used in evaluating yourstory for this module focused on character development:What about the characters stand out?How does the reader get to know the character?Is there a problem with clichés? Are the characters unique?Is the dialogue believable?Are there aspects of the story that are confusing?What areas might be further developed?What should be pared down?Does the story draw to a conclusion?MEMBER #1’s POST TO SAME DISCUSION:It was the summer of 1982 and I was living in a hole in the wall apartment on Colorado Boulevardin Pasadena California. I actually slept on the couch. It was one of those I need a place to crash for acouple days that turned into a year. Punk rock was in full swing at the time. I had a bleached white flattop and wore Hawaiian shirts everywhere I went. There was a lot of drinking back in those days and thebar I frequented the most was Smiling Joes.The claim to fame for Smiling Joes was that it was the oldest bar in California. It was two blocksfrom the apartment so it was stumbling distance home after a late night.When you walked into to Smiling Joes it was dark and you had to stand in the door way to let youreyes adjust. The first thing you saw was the bar. It was in an “L” shape about twenty feet long withabout a dozen stools you had to pull out from under the counter to sit down. The “L” part had a flip uptop so you could come out from behind the bar.To the right of the bar was a pool table. There was actually a path worn in the concrete floor aroundthe table from decades of people shooting pool. Along the walls were booths in a half circle each hada small round table in the center. The seats were made of red vinyl and all of them were cracked withexposed foam underneath. The backs of seats went up to your shoulders and had a diagonal pattern ofbuttons most of which were missing. In the back of the bar were the bathrooms. The men’s door saidgentlemen in faded black letters and of course the women’s said ladies.When you sat down at the bar on the counter there was a jar of large pickles, a tub of hard boiledeggs that had a pinkish hue to them, assorted beef jerky and a bowls of peanuts scattered around. Thecounter was flat with a slight rise in the back that you rested your arms on. It also kept the drinks fromfalling off the edge. Behind the bar was a large mirror. In front of the mirror was an old push buttoncash register. The cash register was surrounded with liquor bottles. Every drink was a free pour, noautomated guns like the newer establishments. People that drank at Smiling Joes wanted to see thebooze come out of the bottle. If you ordered a martini the gin was Old Downey # 9.Smiling Joes had managed to stay frozen in time but the bar itself wasn’t the only thing that camefrom another era. So did the bartender Henryk. I would have never known his name if it weren’t forthe round name tag that had some sort of stain on it.It was hard to tell how old Henryk was but he had to have been in his late 60’s. He had a whiteapron folded in half wrapped around his waist. It looked like it had most of the kitchen on it. He woreblack slacks and a white collared shirt with ruffles where it buttoned up. He had a black bow tie, one ofthe ones you had to actually tie. It was always crooked. Henryk never buttoned the top button of hisshirt. His right sleeve was partially rolled up and the left one was all the way down with a rubber bandkeeping it in place. Henryk’s face was wrinkled with large crow’s feet around his eyes. He had a scaron his left cheek that was about an inch long and still showed some marks from the stitching. He didhave a full head of hair that was a white flat top although his came naturally.I had been coming into Smiling Joes for about a month and the only words out of Henryk were“What’ll it be?” Until one day when I called him Henry. Then I got an ear full. It was hard tounderstand him with his thick accent. I defiantly got the gist of it. If I ever called him Henry again Idrank my last drink at Smiling Joes. I thought to myself, why was this old geezer so concerned abouthis name?I came into the bar everyday at five o’clock and sat on the same stool and ordered the same drinkbut it was always “What’ll it be?” from Henryk. I tried to make small talk. I referenced we had thesame hair cut and the same color. He would just nod and start whipping the glasses. I made anothererror when I asked him why he had a rubber band holding down his left sleeve. He just stared at mewith those crow’s feet crinkling up from his squinted eyes. Finally he said “None of your damnbusiness” and went into the kitchen. He kind of reminded me of an older Charles Bronson from thegreat escape.It was in July that I got the news my uncle Carl had died from cancer. I hadn’t seen him in about tenyears. I remember he used to carry me on his shoulders and take me hiking in the woods behind ourhouse. We would set on this fallen tree trunk and he would tell me stories about the war. He was mymom’s older brother. Although I did not know him that well it still made me sad.Later that day I went to Smiling Joes. I walked in, let my eyes adjust and I could see I was the onlyone in the bar. I sat down on my stool when Henryk said “What’ll it be?” instead of my usual I ordereda shot of whiskey. I raised the shot glass and said to Uncle Carl and threw it back. Henryk glanced atme with a curious look on his face and said “Who is Uncle Carl?”I started to tell him about Uncle Carl. I told Henryk how he used to tell me stories about the warand that Uncle Carl was in Germany when it ended. For the first time since I had been coming toSmiling Joes Henryk came out from behind the bar and pulled up a stool next to mine. He said “Thewar huh, the war to end all wars.” That’s the one I said. Henryk asked me “Where in Germany was myUncle Carl at the end of the war.” I told him I had heard he was part of the US Forces that liberated theDachau concentration camp in the spring of 1945.Henryk froze with his mouth slightly open. He stayed that way for a few minutes then I saw a smalltear slide down his cheek and stop at the scar on his left side of his face. Without saying a word he tookoff the rubber band from his left arm and rolled up his sleeve. He placed his arm on the counter andpointed at the numbers in faded ink on his forearm. Trembling he whispered “I was in Dachau.”Henryk went on to tell me how he was born in Poland and his family moved to Germany when hewas a young child. After the war broke out they were split up and he was sent to Dachau along with hisfather. He was young and strong so they put him on hard labor. His father was also placed on hardlabor. He struggled because of his age everyday to keep up. Without much food and the harshconditions his father got weaker and weaker. One morning he was found dead on the floor of the makeship barrack when they came to send them to work.Henryk described how he was beaten for not keeping up and that he nearly froze from lack ofclothes. He had rags wrapped around his feet for shoes. He lost several toes to frost bite. The guardsused to call him Henry as a way to minimize his polish heritage. They would say hurry up Henry. Dowant any food tonight Henry? Maybe you’ll end up like your father Henry. Henryk said that made himstop in his tracks and leer at the guards. When he didn’t go right back to work the head guard took outa knife and sliced Henryk across the face.That night one of the men in his barracks got a needle and some thread they had to sow up their oldclothes and he used it to stitch up Henryk’s face. Some of the stories were so horrible I could notbelieve human beings could treat each other that way.Finally the day came when the Americans liberated Dachau. Henryk wondered if my Uncle Carlwas one of the solders that came and got him as he lay up against the bodies of the men that did notsurvive.Just then the door opened up letting in the afternoon sun. A customer walked by us and took a seatat the bar. Henryk got up, went behind the bar and served him a drink.Henryk went back to his rubber band around his left arm and we never talked about that day. Icame in to Smiling Joes until they finally closed it down and it became a computer store. I never knewwhat happened to Henryk, but I will never forget him.