A Short Story: The Critic, the Dream, and the Waffles It was a chilly autumn Sunday in Watertown. At 7:30 a.m., I opened my eyes to a bedroom still wrapped in darkness. Rather than face the cold, I decided to stay under the covers until eight, giving the morning sun time to warm the room. I closed my eyes. Just for a few minutes. Moments later, I was on the phone with Armand, our book club’s lead organizer. He was not calling to wish me a pleasant Sunday. He had serious concerns about the story arc of my latest piece. “Did you find my criticism and suggestions valuable?” he pressed. “Are you going to revise your story?” I defended my artistic vision while trying to sound receptive to his advice. Armand was persistent, and our discussion was growing intense. I was in the middle of explaining why my protagonist’s choices made perfect sense when— “Breakfast is ready! Eggs and waffles!” Armand kept talking. “I'm asking you seriously. Are you going to revise it?” “Just a moment, Arman...