Author: Emmeline Alicia Mary PM
She sat down in front of the computer. She was a great writer and usually had lots of ideas for stories, but now she was stuck. Stuck, by the name of the Devil, stuck. She couldn't think of anything to write, mind you, not a single thing! Think, think, think! Nothing came at her. No "Aha!" moment. No words. Nothing. *edited*Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Family/Friendship - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,366 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 09-04-12 - Published: 07-25-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3044805
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
~ Author's Note ~
A story written by my friend, Junelian Ai as her pseudonym.
Read and Review ^_^
- Emmeline Alicia Mary -
© Copyright 2012 - Junelian Ai
All rights reserved
Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Junelian Ai or Emmeline Alicia Mary
Written By Junelian Ai
She sat down in front of the computer. She was a great writer and usually had lots of ideas for stories, but now she was stuck. Stuck, by the name of the Devil, stuck. She couldn't think of anything to write, mind you, not a single thing! Think, think, think! Nothing came at her. No "Aha!" moment. No words. Nothing.
Try a historical story. A historical event. The Great Depression? The Titanic? A girl…a small girl, boarding the Titanic with her mum…and she started typing. She typed until she came to the half mark of the first page, and read it over. But the story didn't satisfy her. So she deleted it. She deleted the story.
A story . . . a story of an adult coming . . . to . . . a – a mirror. The mirror . . . traps the adult and . . . kids have to get the adult . . . out of . . . no. The idea was too close to a real published book. That would basically be stealing the author's idea.
The writer could not think of any satisfying tale, and slammed her palm on the sandy black desk below the waiting computer, opened to Microsoft Word, page empty. She tried several times more, without good results, and was scolded.
"Wasting your time!" screeched her mother.
"No imagination!" shouted her father.
But she failed to recognize those words, and was even less hurt by them. All the writer could think of was the blank, white, page she would have at the end of the day. The writer thought more. She sat there, thinking for hours, distracted only by the thought that she had to write something, that she must type words on the blank page she had. She typed, deleted, typed, and deleted.
But before she could delete her latest story, she heard a grunt behind her. Her ears awoke and listen for the first time since she started the computer.
"Don't delete that. If you're not satisfied, save it for later years. It satisfies my soul, anyway. Nice story. Nice catch. Nice beginning." The voice she heard was her father's. Her father had been watching for sometime now. "It even may be the book you dream of to write. It's a nice narrative for a ten-year-old anyway."
So she didn't delete it, but saved the unfinished story for after years. However, she continued writing more until one story she wrote struck her when she read it. It struck her so hard and unexpectedly that she tripped over her own feet to rush to her mother and father to tell. Even so, she did not notice the time. Her parents were asleep. The time was 1 a.m., and she had missed many hours of sleep. She yawned and saved her started work; but not wanting to lose her ideas, she continued typing the story. When she didn't feel anything and was having yet another hard time thinking, she fell asleep.
Six Years Later
The writer looked at the publisher with disbelief. Was he laughing his head off in silence? Were the publishers, editors, and other people sharing a private joke?
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Yes. I am. Here is your medal. From now on, your book will be published with the Newberry Medal on it. I am happy that your father ever showed us that story. If he didn't, then you wouldn't be doing this right now," the publisher smiled at her.
Her face cracked into a grin. "Thanks!"
Then, she stopped a taxi and rushed it home. Her father was already there, waiting on the doorstep. She ran into his arms.
"Thanks, Dad. I won the Newberry Medal with your help."
Her father smiled and replied to her, "No, Jackie. Thank you."