Chapter Forty-Four - The First Word

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"Well, that's a bit harsh, isn't it?" remarks Jamie, once I've finished telling him about my 'new project'. "I mean, your train literally just crashed five days ago. Now he's telling you to write a story about it?"

"Welcome to the world of journalism," I shrug. "Anyway, it's due in two weeks. I'd better start writing."

"Two weeks?"

"Yes," I snap, "Stop asking me questions!"

I open up my laptop and stare at the blank page. How come Microsoft Word looks so... unappealing? It's like it's taunting me. Saying 'ha ha, I bet you can't write anything on me because I am trained to murder you with my blankness and the annoying little blinking cursor!"

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But still, it's annoying me. And I definitely can't write if I'm annoyed. 

I usually find on Microsoft Word, that once you type the first word, it gets easier. Like, a lot easier. But my problem today seems to be that I can't find a first word.

I know exactly how the article is going to pan out.

I know the middle, the ending, and all the bits in between... except the first word.

I can't start with 'On Monday' or 'Five days ago' as that would sound too much like an official newspaper report. This is a story. This is my story. And my story definitely isn't a newspaper report.

I can't start it with 'Once upon a time' either, because. This is not Disney.

However much I wish it is.

Anyway. Finally I settle on a rhetorical question. "Has there ever been a time when everything was going just perfectly, all the pieces falling into place like a jigsaw puzzle, and then someone or something just stomps all over your puzzle, ruining your day and your life and pretty much everything else?" Ha. Now my readers can relate to me.

Once I've got the first sentence nailed, the whole article just flows out of my fingers. Not to say that it's not painful to write. (I leave out the fact that everyone smelled like cowpats by the end.)

I change everyone's names (no, I didn't even consider using their nicknames. Just who do you think I am? Charlotte Finley?), and edit out some of the bits where people (by people, I obviously mean Fat Kid) are being a bit... well, whiny.

I save my draft, then attach it to an email to Mr Clifford. My mouse pointer is literally hovering over the 'Send' button when I suddenly think 'layout'.

The world hates me.

Commute - Camp NaNoWriMo April 2015Onde as histórias ganham vida. Descobre agora