Script doctor ( English Version )

Introduction

Hi. Dear fellows faithful friends of mine, fans and old readers, I am on my way to progress! Decided to write this year a novel. Maybe, because I was asked (should I write forced, and pushed to) by my lovely editor. As some of you may have heard or told, yes, I have been out of inspiration lately. Six month have gone quickly since I finished signing my last success Day of the century. I am working on a sequel, exploring new possibilities and mysteries. Don't you worry, you will know in time ! Also, I -

Laura Vosgen stared at her blinding screen where lines and words detuned seemed disinterested. She stood a hand to a cup of coffee. Cold. Sigh. She glanced on the first lines. This email was a lie itself.

Locked in her office since her last literary disaster, she tried to maintain a rhythm, between writing exercices and calls, but no call back. Eventually, she tried to ask for help last night to her friend, Victor Danvers, an editor. Two months had passed by since his last call. This early night, Laura Vosgen was begging for help, and interest. 

" ..Listen carefully Laura. I am not used to say so.. only we think here you are a lazy lady. You are facing the famous inspiration breakdown.

- More like a crisis, sir.. The young author cuts.

- Maybe you should go outside ! Your office sure stinks crisis and boredom. Experiences ! There are out there, waiting for you ! How many times I will have to call you back, teaching you how to focus on the outside !

- Victor. I know all of this.

- And still, you won't do it ! Laura. Grab your backpack and a notebook, and go to meet some others. You're just alone, right now, am I right ?

- Yes but ! "

The flow and intonations let her push the phone farther her. She did not appreciate the serious talk and would rather agree on other options. The tone of her editor was an ally of ups and downs. Mostly ups, which kept annoying her.

"..Why wait in your tiny and stinky room ? For inspiration ? An idea ? It won't come easily. Get used to it. Do me the favor, the honor, to get out, take a shower, it helps, and discover ! Discover around your place. Why don't you fly somewhere ! You know, my good friend, told me of great advantages, discount tickets straight to the place of your dreams ! Or anything.

- Wow I did not expect such great advises, doctor Danvers..

- Laura ! You are exhausting ! Your last novel was a success. Fine. You know if you want to get this fame money, image and confidence back, you should put your career at a risk. Readers are forgetting you, letting away the portrait of a young and sure inspired and inspiring author !

- Please I..

- Don't you dare say you don't care. Now. After this call, I want you to go outside and experience the real world. Your paper is not the word of truth... "

Laura hung up with the strong -not appreciable - feeling she was a lonely kid in front of her computer, begging for notoriety. Certainly, would she compare herself to a shameful daughter, under the furious eyes of the truth, the father figure that is to say her editor.

She looked back at her computer screen. Blank. Pasty mouth, Laura scrolls through old files. Searching for a last hint. A single hope. Suddenly the screen turns blue. No more battery. She yells. Maybe this was the hint to her release.

She stood up tall. A pain due to the long hours of sitting and no writing made her legs up to her knees trembling. Her confident gaze and posture were strongly incompatibles. Laura drank vividly the cold bitter drink before opening the door. Stop. She was facing her bedroom. Another depression : the no-writer-land. Mountains of dirty clothes formed, attached to piles of papers. Her essays. The mess was nothing compared to the smell : coffee and sweat covered cowardly with heavy and cheap perfume.

Laura closed her eyes and crossed her bedroom. From her mouth emanated a long breath, and a smile drew her tired face. She came at the bathroom. In the mirror, the last step of this promised tough quest, she could admire her traits. A confusion of youth and boredom as she thought.

" Oh god, what have we done. " Not to mention sarcasms were a second hand talent, never abandoned. She caressed her pale skin. She sighed longly before diving into the icy shower.

The wash, brain wash, was not helping. Laura risked it all when having to choose for new clothes. In front of her, two choices.

" Seven years old fit's shirt or white shirt with suspicious smell of last week drunk sex ? hard to make the good decision. "

She ran away, in her sheets.