Light Editing
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Original:
Jones was puzzled at the way the clock looked, twisted to the side, like that. It was 8:10am, or could it 8:14am? He couldn’t teel with a clock like that.
Today was the first day to attend his Alcohol Anonymous group. He had just got off his drinking last week with the help of a counseler and he had more than trouble sticking with the cousneler’s plan. Even though he threw out all the beer, vodka, and wine from his apartment, he felt like he was hallucinating while seeing his surroundings – everything looked like something to drink alcohol from.
Revised:
Jones was puzzled at the way his clock looked, twisted at the side. Was it 8:10am, or 8:14am? He couldn’t tell.
Today was the first meeting of the Alcohol Anonymous group. He had recently weaned off his drinking last week with the help of a counselor, but he had trouble sticking to the counselor’s plan. Even though he threw out all the beer, vodka, and wine from his apartment, he was hallucinating while seeing his surroundings – objects around him looked like something to drink alcohol from.
Medium Editing
Original:
Jones was puzzled at the way the clock looked, twisted to the side, like that. It was 8:10am, or could it 8:14am? He couldn’t teel with a clock like that.
Today was the first day to attend his Alcohol Anonymous group. He had just got off his drinking last week with the help of a counseler and he had more than trouble sticking with the cousneler’s plan. Even though he threw out all the beer, vodka, and wine from his apartment, he felt like he was hallucinating while seeing his surroundings – everything looked like something to drink alcohol from.
Revised:
Jones was puzzled – his clock was turned to the right slightly, hanging by a bent nail: was it 8:10am, or 8:14am?
He had to leave at 8:30am to reach the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting outside of Portland at 9:30am. He still hadn’t taken a shower, or donned his “meeting clothes,” which consisted of dark blue jeans and a light red t-shirt with a small Christian cross on the back. Not being drunk helped, though, in getting himself prepared: normally it took him close to an hour to get himself groomed in the morning.
He had just kicked the habit last week with the help of a counselor. Even though all the beer, vodka, and wine was disposed of the week before, Jones still unconsciously relished alcohol in what he saw: a trash can at times appeared as a bottle, park fountains reminded him of dorm beer barrels outpouring their juice, and sometimes peoples’ heads seemed like corks to screw off to consume ancient wine.
Heavy Editing
Original:
Jones was puzzled at the way the clock looked, twisted to the side, like that. It was 8:10am, or could it 8:14am? He couldn’t teel with a clock like that.
Today was the first day to attend his Alcohol Anonymous group. He had just got off his drinking last week with the help of a counseler and he had more than trouble sticking with the cousneler’s plan. Even though he threw out all the beer, vodka, and wine from his apartment, he felt like he was hallucinating while seeing his surroundings – everything looked like something to drink alcohol from.
Revised:
Jones Hemming was not as lazy as his clock, but nearly. The grandfather clock was shifted to the side due to an incorrect amount of cardboard pilings underneath to support its disproportionate sanding upon its delivery. Even if the clock was a grandfather, it was only over two years old – a gift from a donor that didn’t want to see the tower-of-a-watch anymore.
From the clock’s tilted position, Jones couldn’t decipher whether it was 8:10am or 8:14am. The hand of the clock was deceptively thin, covering minutes with its blade. Despite the cloudiness of time-telling, he had to leave by 8:30am to attend his first Alcohol Anonymous meeting on the other side of town, sleepy old Pasedena. It would take at least 40 minutes to reach there by his incorrigible car, a 1995 Ford Taurus station wagon that looked more like a school bus for special kids in standard education. To make it there safely, he promised himself to be supplied with 20 minutes of freedom to make mistakes. He had gotten used to leaving time for blunders: his alcohol consumption was kicked only last week with the aid of a counselor. After sitting in her stuffy office in an accumulated 15 hours, the counselor finally broke him. Maybe it was her mesmerizing blue eyes that had sparks of yellow at the edges, or her countenance that demanded attention – a serious, bulbous, engrossing face that could be compared to Socrates… but a female version.
Yet despite her sage-like powers, Jones still fantasized about drinking up his old friend, Mr. Alcohol. He hallucinated frothing beer in his drinking cup as he drank water as he woke up, he envisioned wine dripping from the sink faucet as he washed dishes, he saw vodka spewing out of his water hose as he watered his miniature garden at approximately 6am.
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