Beyond that, there’s the issue of unexpected language, something – a word or phrase – that jumps off the page because of its very startling-ness. Startle-ability. It’s nice to see objects described in new ways rather than the tired old clichés we see so often. So when a character “slurps the wine like miso soup,” or holds onto “the driver’s short shoulder” I get psyched. Way to go. Short shoulder? I’m not even sure what that means, but I love it.
And I know we’ve spoken a little about this, but your use of word-play seems to work well for me. Some examples: “Ceiling tiles. Nine times nine is eighty-one. The year we moved to Texas…”; “Same shit different day is my day in day out, except for today”; the dialogue/monologue (“Canada, Heath, aviation, baseball, motorcycle … Anathema, beat, probation, overalls, boat and FICA”) from the first exercise. There are more, but these are the ones that stood out. Whenever a writer can make me stop and think about the words he’s using, about how words create meaning, and what layered meanings certain words can create (and not only stop and think about but marvel at), that’s something to be proud of. So be proud, Doug. Be proud.
One suggestion I can make is to try to do more with character, try to make your characters as unique and varied as your language. How do they stand out from others? What makes them human? Or critter, as the case may be in exercise four? The best example, for me, of making a character completely real, completely felt, thus far, has been in the third exercise, when you write: “I try to stay out of trouble. I sometimes get pulled over. Sometimes I drive drunk. I get into bar fights.” Now that is just plain awesome. The complexity of the character (and what he sees himself as) is revealed in those couple lines beautifully. And I guess I’d like to see you do more of this kind of thing.

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