While I have spent my time dealing with interviewees that have closed e-mail accounts and don't return phone calls for my first assignment on the LCC paper, I have also been working on coming up with "gems"(ideas that might make good stories) for my creative writing class homework assignment. Meanwhile, still self-editing my comic story, typing up some reviews of my weekly comics, and doing all the crappy work involved in sending out submissions. All the work made me want to take a break and write something fun. The result is the following. Here's a little story I thought of. It's not for publication just for fun and I thought I would post it here for my true fans! HAHA! Anyway, it's just a silly little tale. It's funny to me but probably not to anyone else(maybe fellow writers?). At the least anyone reading it might figure out where I got the idea and maybe it will give some insight as to one of the many reasons why I feel frustrated about writing so often. Hope you enjoy my first piece of original work published here on my little blog.
Born to write. Her creative thoughts were overwhelming. The beautiful structure of each tale so well done that never was there a reader not completely awed by her work. It was clear that she would be the next great creator of world renowned literature, her stories studied and praised for centuries. Such promise was seen in the young girl.
She did not hesitate, once out in the real world she swore to do anything possible to get her work noticed. So she wrote her first story she intended for the world to read. Then she found every guideline for every magazine and anthology that would possibly publish this story and she began to read through each set of rules. Tears began to stream down her face with frustration, she wanted every chance possible for her story, so she would abide by each publisher's request word for word.
She had a job to pay her bills but now she needed a second job just to pay for the postage, envelopes, paper, ink and the most costly of all, the sample copies. Everyone wanted you to read their publication first to make sure your story fit their style. They can never be progressive and step away from their standard style. The publications needed to be sure you send them the same thing they printed last month.
So between working all the time, reading sample copies and printing and re-printing each submission to every individual company's standards, there was no time to write anything else. And the one story that she did write to brighten the world with her gift, would never be seen.
After finally reading every publication and stuffing every envelope with the story formatted to perfection, she was going to head to the post office.
The apartment she lived in had become cluttered, much like an old lady's home who hasn't thrown away a newspaper or calendar in her life because she might need it one day. She wasn't an old lady though, her apartment was cluttered with a copy of every publication ever made. Stacked almost to the ceiling, lining the walls of her tiny studio. There were so many that they had begun to spill onto the small space she had left to walk in.
Her arms filled beyond capacity with submissions, she could hardly see over them. She slipped on the fallen magazines and bumped one of the large stacks as she fell. Her head smashed into the floor, leaving her unconscious. The stack of anthologies and literary publications tumbled onto her head and buried her alive. It wasn't until the neighbors complained about the smell that they found her. Her submissions and sample copies shredded by the mice that had taken up residency. The police would find her body buried under the huge stacks of paper. The landlord would take no care for her stuff as he tossed it out into the dumpster. No one will ever be moved by her emotional revelations, or her compelling plots. She didn't make it as a writer, but she died trying.
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