Short Stories going... NOWHERE

Going... nowhere.

I really wish that I wasn't such a shitty writer.

I say this to myself every time I sit futilely at my computer typing ridiculous opening sentences and promptly erasing them two minutes later. At this stage, I might not ever finish my novel, it isn't even a novel, really, it's a collection of short stories, and it's truly going nowhere.

'Once upon a time...'

'One day there was a boy...'

'It was a dark and stormy night...'

'There was a young woman, sitting at her table in a class she detested attempting to write a goddamn short story instead of learning some foreign language she couldn't give any shits about...' Oh for fuck's sake.

I hit the backspace button and hold it down until it's all gone. This is stupid, I mean, seriously. After being in extension classes and doing writing workshops my whole adolescent, life, I should be able to write a simple, fucking, short story. Every time I manage to get into a groove I end up needlessly cluttering it with words that a myriad of people probably wouldn't understand. Myriad, nice. There I go thinking 'Heathers: the musical' references to myself, like I said, stupid. A stupid novel, stupid process, stupid thoughts, stupid ideas, stupid me. I look down at my laptop and realise I have been absentmindedly typing out words, and though it's riddled with grammatical errors and typos, it's the beginnings of a story.

Oh GOD, I hope that this one has some substance to it.

So I set to work reading it over:

"There was a charming old house on the hill..."

That's a good start, well, that's the way a lot of these stories start anyway. I like it, all of a sudden, I get hit with a scene that plays across my mind and an inspiration the size of a school bus, one of those little school buses, but that's beside the point. I have a story!

I gradually come to my senses, noticing that I am indeed still in this stupid class, and stick my hand in the air.

"Yes! Katherine!" My poor teacher is practically bursting with excitement that I'm finally contributing something to the lesson. Instead, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, grab my phone, and three seconds after I get through the classroom door, I call my girl. When she picks up with a groggy "Hey babe," I duck into an alcove in the corridor and say with a massive smile:

"Babe, I have a story."