Charlotte's Story

The Start

Authors Note: I wrote this in High School and found it a couple weeks back. I decided to post it to Wattpad and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

Happy Reading!

Renee's POV:

Date: 06/12/2014

Title: Life

Writer: Charlotte

Life is...

I slowly close the cover of my laptop, leaning back into my creaky leather office chair.

I sigh, taking a moment to take in my surroundings. Directly in front of me is my overused desk from college. There were scuffs and scratches when it was originally given to me, but I had added more to it over the years, adding my own history to the wood in front of me. My fingers drag over the worn edges of the desk where my elbows have worn the wood down to its original light color.

This was evidence of my power typing at all hours of the day. That had happened back when I had things to write about when things were always ever new.

How was I supposed to write my blog if nothing new was going on in my life?

I was in a slump.

There was a time when things were happening when things were changing. Back then, it was easy to know why my blog was one of the most read. It mystified me now that my readers were still growing and strong with the fast decline of events occurring in my life.

"They are talking book deals," George, my agent, and "agent" was a loose term for him since I had never paid him, said.

He had pushed his way into my life a little over a year ago, showing up to my beach condo with no appointment. He had tracked down the mysterious blogger.

That mysterious blogger was me.

"It took me months to find you," he had said, wiping the sweat off of his forehead, and I instantly regretted opening the door. "This could be huge!" he proclaimed, throwing his chubby hands up in the air, trying to get my attention. This exact action deterred me from wanting to open the door for him.  A woman and man beachgoer looked over to my front door, wondering if they should interfere. I nudged the door closer to him, trying to shut the door on his face. His presence made me think of the people that went door to door scamming you, and you would lose half of your life savings in a blink of an eye.

I had not allowed myself to dream before then.

Who needs a book? I had asked myself repeatedly that next month after George had stopped by and filled my brain with complete and unwanted nonsense.

Blogs.Com paid me well enough to afford a condo on the beach; it had been my dream since moving to Maine six years ago. Every morning I was able to wake up, sit on my porch facing the ocean, and watch as the waves crashed onto the beach, pulling the sand out and then back up the shore, and then the process would start all over again, it was meditation at its finest.

The meditation I wanted and needed.

George never gave up on me, always showing up early every Friday to "check-in" on me.

George was a married man with two children, with plenty of clients. Many of them I would have given my left arm to meet, but there was no way I would owe George for a favor. It would have been like making a deal with the devil.

"Anything new today?" George asks me now, stepping into the condo and dropping my usual double chocolate doughnut, my downfall in life, and coffee on the kitchen counter.

"Nothing," I yawn, picking the coffee up off of the table. Caffeine over food, another downfall in life of mine.

"Writing a book would be a great thing to blog about" he squints his beady eyes at me, prying me for the correct answer.

He knew exactly what I knew; I was running out of material. I had never lied, never once had I made up life events, but I feared I was closing in on that. How many more times could I describe my morning chats with the neighbors? Was I really talking to Dale from next door that interesting?

Each time before hitting submit, I reread my words on the screen and thought, my life is utterly boring.

"Maybe" The word hung there for a millisecond, George's eyes shoot open, wide open, no longer squinting. With one word, the energy in the room changed instantly because we both knew that change was coming.

George coughs on the coffee in his mouth.

He was not expecting this; I had taken George by surprise.

"Maybe?" George pulls out a small notepad from his pocket. Next, he brings out a medium-size pencil that could fit in his jacket pocket, the size small enough to go unnoticed. "What do I need to do to make this a go?"

I smile, watching his hands frantically opening his notepad. George was forever faithful.

"I was thinking, you do a book of your blogs, but you make them flow together. It would be a life tribute of your blogginess."

"Is blogginess really a word?" I smirked into my coffee, hiding my amusement as much as I could from him.

"It is now" he jots down whatever maniac ideas are rolling around in his bald head of his. "Start simple. Actually, start with your archives, and then I'll stop by Monday and see how it is going." Now I was going to have to see him on Mondays as well?

He was containing himself, not exposing how excited he really was. He had waited patiently, a year, of coming and going, of checking and seeing how my mood was toward writing a book.

And now I was caving; I was going to give him exactly what he wanted.

This was my "peak time," George had told me last week.

My reader count was climbing weekly, still to my surprise. "Why?" I asked, still stumped. He looked at me, and I could tell he wondered if he should say or not.

"Because of him" is all George said. Of course, he was right... Everyone was waiting for his reappearance, even me, even though I knew the chances of him coming back into my life were slim.  

I waited a full hour after he leaves before I sit back down at my desk.

There lying next to my laptop is my current month's journal, the sun hitting the blank page on top, showing my life summed up all in one blank page.

The words had always flowed better when I had a pen and a pad of paper.

Typing was when all my jumbled thoughts came together, coming to life.

There were too many journals to count; they were now the only items I cherished, I could not part from them. They were stored in their respective boxes in order of month and year.

Most people made new year's resolution at the start of the year; I instead would box up what had occurred from my life that year, wrapping each journal with parchment paper, lining them neatly, and tucking them away in my loft in the garage. Who needed New Year's resolutions when you could just start fresh...

I log into my blogs.com account, my mouse hovers over history, then scroll to the list of years; all six of them appear on the screen.

I click on the very first year, 2009, and then slide down to my very first blog.

Had it been six years since I started this job?

A job that consumed my whole life; everyone knew as much about me as they wanted to. I never had censorship; if it happened, it made its way to my blog. My words are being spread to the masses.

People cyber stalked me; it was unavoidable.

Birthday cards filtered in from random strangers, but to them, I was someone they knew; I had no clue who they were.  But it was how I made money and survived day today; it was pathetic.

I hesitate, looking at my computer screen, wondering if I want to go back and remember everything.

And then I finally click the button, making the final decision I had failed to do so many times before.

I was going to remember.