Project Pen (first draft)

chapter two (tw: sa)

I smacked my head against the walnut wood of my desk, and closed my eyes.  It always seemed like I had a million ideas at any given moment, waiting to be fully fleshed out.  So why is it that now it really matters, I can’t seem to remember a single one worth a dime?

     This could have been my one chance to prove myself, people don’t typically get an opportunity like this in this industry.  What would my mom think?  The amount of years she spent telling me I couldn't do it, that no matter how good I am, the odds are too small.  No matter how determined, I’ll have to move back…

  She can’t be right.

     I sighed and swung my feet while I flipped through my ideas notebook.  Modern adaption of a Shakespearean work?  Overdone.  Regal drama?  Lacks depth.  Academic rivals to lovers?  A joke.  I’m done for.  I can never show my face again!

     How was I supposed to go back to Irish Lit knowing that I had disappointed Mr. Kelly like this?  It would kill me… Kill… I picked up my pen and began scribbling the idea before it left me.  I could write about a girl who killed to improve her class rank!  It’s perfect!  It’s relatable, and marketable on multiple levels.  Who doesn’t love a good slasher?

     With a newfound confidence, I began plotting.  The  plotting process went as smoothly as I could’ve imagined.  The characters felt real and relatable, and their struggles meant something.  This story would mean something. 

     It took about three hours and one movie break with Tiffany.  She dragged me away to watch Dead Poets Society, one of our favorite movies to watch together, (one of the rare stories that we both find to be touching,) before I put the finishing touches on the plot outline.
“It might help,” she said, grabbing the remote, “watching another story about the pressure of academia might inspire you!”  Tiffany smiled at me while the opening credits played.  I know she was just making an excuse to get me to take a break, but she’s right.  It’s good to go back to the juvenile entertainment of my youth every once in a while.
 
     When I was younger, I used to daydream about going to a school like that one, and my time there, but more importantly my departure, Would mean that much to the school culture.  I wanted nothing more than to stalk the pompous, grandiose halls of some little-known but highly pretentious school.

     Perhaps it would be in the mountains or deep in the forest, but it would be away from society.  It would be just me, my education, and my fellow students.  Now that I’m here, it falls a bit short.  It’s everything I thought it would be, It’s me that’s the problem.  I can’t seem to find the romance in it now that I did before.  That’s a good thought though.  I noted it for the future, a plausible theme;  the idyllicism of  adolescence.

     Once the movie was over, I immediately got back to work.  Tiffany had been right.  The sacrifice of life itself as to not give in to the oppressive forces above, to perfect your art, even if just for one day inspired me.  I let Tiffany read it as soon as it was done.

     “This is good,” Tiffany muttered, eyes still on the screen, “Edith this is really good!”  She turned to me and smiled, holding my hands as if to encourage me.  “Seriously, I think you really have something here.  It’s perfect.” Tiffany sang my praises with much enthusiasm, but she didn’t mean what she said.  I don’t think Tiffany believes anything is truly perfect, but she believes in encouraging others as much as she can.  I’ve seen her read some of the worst writing known to man   with an unfaltering smile on her face.  Though logically I know that Tiffany’s word means nothing in this regard, her approval encouraged me, and I began the first chapter.

       Exposition and worldbuilding usually come naturally to me.  It’s the purest form of self-escapism.  And so my story begins with a young girl, whose name I haven’t actually decided yet, something delicate and feminine, studying during her lunch period.  Something I’ve done thousands of times before.  Write what you know, right?