Every class invariably had its Procrastinator, who would have a story idea but never finish it. Procrastinators invariably showed up to workshops with half a text, and while some tried to conceal the fact, most were brazen about it. Sean was brazen; he’d come to class with a page or two written and describe, in glowing detail, the novel-length treatment that was to follow “when he had the time” or “in the next draft.” Some of Dave’s old teachers had loved the Procrastinators, as their vague descriptions of the assignment could be mentally twisted into something brilliant–Dave had once been issued a C for a completed story only to have his instructor wax poetic (and award an A) to a story that had ended in a cliffhanger after one and a half pages.

“On that note,” Dave said. “Sean?”

“Mine’s not finished yet,” Sean said. “But it’ll be totally great when it is. Picture this: there’s this guy, okay, and he thinks he’s asleep but he’s really awake! And he goes out, and he’s all like ‘hey, I can do whatever I want, this is just a crazy dream,’ and everyone else is like ‘what’re you doing?’

“I see,” Dave said. “Read us some of what you’ve got.”

“Oh, uh, here it is.” Sean shuffled his papers around. “I had this dream once, or at least I thought I did. I, uh, had that kind of, uh, floaty feeling you get when, uh, you dream, and that was, uh, enough to make me sure I was dreaming.”

Dave noted that Sean’s eyes weren’t moving as he ‘read.’ “Sounds interesting!” he said. “Did I mention that I’m collecting your drafts today?”
Sean paled a bit and sank in his seat.

“I think there’s potential there,” Mark said next to him. “You might be able to invert the form, play on the audience’s expectations. Good flow too.”