Ok. This little thing is left on a HUGE CLIFFHANGER. I thought I'd warn you right off the bat. I bought this book by Gail Carson Levine a while back called 'Writing Magic: Creating Stories That Fly'. I absolutely LOVE Gail Carson Levine, she's an amazing author and I've read a lot of her stuff. Truthfully, I think she's stocked in the children's section, but we all know how much I love children's books :p But I saw this book and was like...that actually looks kind of awesome. And it was like, five dollars, so I bought it.
But right, this book. It's all about giving you ideas for your writing, and helping you write better. And the first little task/challenge thing, is to pick one of the starter sentences that she gives you, there are ten of them, and sit down and write a story using that sentence. You have to write for twenty minutes. And I did that. I picked the first one, because it was the most interesting and I sat down and wrote.
I wrote for twenty minutes, maybe for more, I don't remember. But I actually sat down and wrote this thing, from scratch, not from a previous idea, not from a story that I've been thinking about for years. Created this entire world out of thin air.
I felt super proud of myself for about five minutes, because then my genius dried up, and now I'm left with this interesting start, and no where to go with it. I have nothing else in the way of ideas for this story. There's something about writing a story about a boy who finds a diamond necklace on the seat of the bus in one of the later chapters of this book. And she goes on to say, 'change the necklace however you want, make it into something magical that changes something about the wearer' or w/e. And so I got to thinking, 'maybe my girl finds a hat that, when she wears it, it takes away her powers'.
But even that went no-where. Because then...what reason does she have to take the hat off? There has to be a reason for her to start loving her powers enough to take the hat off, because otherwise that's where the story ends. She finds this hat, she puts it on, and BOOM. She's deaf and blind, so to speak.
Nothing. So, I'm posting this and I'm warning you. I have nowhere to go with it. I don't know what to do with it. *sigh* Upsets me a little bit.
(so again, this piece o' crap i call a writing comm doesn't feel like letting me give you a title and author. i'm the author, obvs, and the title is in the subject line *sigh* grr)
Pairing: no pairing
Length: 824 words.
Rating: PG-13. because i mention sex.
I have one green eye, and one brown eye. The green eye sees truth, but the brown eye sees much, much more. Walking down the street with me is… an interesting experience, to say the least.
I come from old money, and substantial money, which means something, even these days. Just walking outside of my apartment each day is a trial and taking the subway or the bus is almost too much to even think about, so at the earliest opportunity I bought myself a car. Now, I didn’t need to buy a Mercedes, but hey. The money is just sitting around, gathering dust. Why not take advantage of it?
I live in the Penthouse suite in one of the ritziest buildings in New York. I have my own private elevator, thankfully, because all I need is one look to see the thoughts and feelings of the people around me. And that’s just the green eye. It tells me exactly what you’re thinking, in minute detail. It can see into your head and expose all your deepest, darkest secrets. One look and I know everything. But I need you right there for it to work. I can’t just think of someone and know what’s going on.
The brown eye is a little different. Whereas the green eye is more for people, the brown eye works on objects. One look at the button in a regular elevator, and I see what happened two hours ago, and why that particular elevator took so long to get from the second floor to the first.
That Mrs. Marley sure is flexible. Mr. Handers isn’t much better, though. Or much worse…with all the thoughts and images flying around in my head, I get a little jumbled from time to time and never really know what words to use, and how to describe or explain what I see.
We’ll just leave it at, ‘They have some pretty amazing sex.’ Not too hard to get mixed up.
But that’s just the button on an elevator. Door knobs, sidewalks, walls…of any kind. Light posts, signs, pictures. Anything that might’ve happened on any given day, the brown eye sees.
It makes for some very interesting dreams. And nightmares. It’s like there’s a recorder on every object in the known universe, and my brown eye has the only correct password for viewing.
As far as I know, I’m the only person with this little talent. I try to avoid the day to day life of my fellow humans as much as possible, but even in my limited experience I’ve never encountered anyone who even gave away a hint of being able to see the things I see, and know the things I know. It makes for a very lonely existence.
I’m twenty-eight, and have been working at a publishing company for the last three years. I graduated college at least two years earlier than the rest of my classmates and went on the job hunt almost immediately. While it’s true that I come from old money, and while there is a lot of it, I still liked the idea of making my own money and having it to spend everyday.
A normal day for me starts at around five in the morning. I get up, I change into the exercise clothes I laid out the night before, and I go through my routine. When I’m done, I shower, I have a very large breakfast, and I head down to my car to go into work.
Being friends with the head of the department that I work in has always come in handy. It helped me get the job, though I did work for it and wasn’t just handed it on a silver platter. It makes it easier to flex my schedule, and work the way I want to work. He knows my talents and skill, I’ve never worried about my position in the company.
I don’t slack off. I come in at nine every morning, and I stay until five. But I have my own office, way in the corner where no one every goes. I have a desk, chairs, filing cabinets, pictures and any other multitude of things you would think go in an office, and all of my own choosing. I wasn’t going to risk any pesky vision popping up of the history of the object, when I’m trying to concentrate on the new author’s rough draft in front of me. I speak to the writers whose work I’m critiquing, to the other editors and proof-readers and to the interns and assistants. But only ever face to face with the writers.
I woke up that morning thinking it would be like any other day. I did my exercises; I ate my breakfast; I drove to work. I had a very productive day with one of my most promising writers yet.
I thought everything would be fine. Normal.
I was very wrong.
So there you have it. The first sentence of the story is the starter that Ms. Levine gave me. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm pretty sure I enjoyed writing it :D