Since you’re so confident in your ability to judge good prose from bad, tell me how to improve this. (Not a real story, just an example of how I’ve been trying to write.) The phone rang for a good five minutes before Anon finally heaved himself upright. The floor tilted beneath him. He could swear he hadn’t touched a drop last night, so what do you call a hangover without the drinking? Right. Feeling like shit. He steadied himself on the edge of the mattress and dragged a hand through his thinning hair. The ringing hadn’t let up once. This was going to be painful. “You’re late,” a clipped, high-pitched voice said the second he picked up. Becky. He could picture her perfectly plucked eyebrows knotting together beneath that tight ponytail. “I know.” “You should’ve been here half an hour ago.” “I know.” “Where the hell are you? Don’t tell me you’re still at home.” “Fine, I won’t.” “Damn it, Anon. Get your ass over here right fucking now!” His grip tightened on the phone. Becky was his guild agent. She was young, pretty, and ambitious, with the skills to back it up, which was how she’d landed the job of representing one of the country’s top heroes in the first place. Lately, though, she’d gotten into the nasty habit of acting like he worked for her instead of the other way around, as if he couldn’t snap her tight little body in half like a Barbie doll. “Never take that tone with me,” he said. “I spent sixteen hours yesterday clearing the Goblin Dungeon. Not the army. Not Sam’s party. Me.” Silence. Then: “That’s exactly why we need you. We’re running out of time before the next incursion.” She paused. “Anon, I wish there were somebody else I could call. I really do. But you’re the only A-rank delver in the tri-state area, and a lot of good people are going to die unless you step up. I hope you understand that.” Her last words practically dripped honey. The girl knew exactly how to push his buttons. He groaned. “I know. I’ll be there.”

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