I’d push open the front door to leave the house in the morning.
CUE RISING THEME MUSIC.
And walk to school.
If someone would call my name, I’d swing my (what I imagined to be) perfect long hair around and fix them with a movie star smile (braces optional).
I’m sure this all looked way more goofy than it felt.
But, strangely enough. stardom never came knocking on my door.
Then I decided that one day I’d be a writer. A passion which has lasted much longer than the passing fancy of acting. But writing comes with its own…side effects.
She walks into the store and sighs heavily. Long line up. Another long line up. But, after all this time, after all these years, she should be used to it.
Finally, she reaches the front, summons a smile to her weary face and speaks the words which will change her life for the better.
“Large double-double coffee,” she says. “Please.”
The Tim Hortons employee grudgingly goes about making the beverage. She can hear the tapping feet of impatient people behind her.
“That’s a dollar thirty-five,” the cashier says sadly.
No, not sadly. Don’t want to use that word. How does the cashier ask for the money? Grudgingly? No, hate those –ly words. Plus, I already used it in the previous paragraph. Maybe she’s tired. What’s the cashier’s motivation? What does she want?
“That’s a dollar thirty-five,” the cashier says as her gaze travels to the photo she keeps next to the cash register. Little Timmy. The child she had out of wedlock and put up for adoption. Only a few more years and she’d have enough money to find him.
No, wait. This isn’t the cashier’s story. It’s my story. Besides, splitting the point of view like that is bad and distracting to the reader. Also, what a sob story. Please. I write funny. Where’s the funny?
She snatches the coffee off the counter, peels back the lid and takes a generous swig of the ambrosia within. And starts choking.
Must remember not to breathe and drink at the same time, she thinks, as some tan-colored beverage shoots out of her nose and sprays the other customers.
Sometimes it’s fun having the endless inner monologue. Sometimes, not so much. I only wonder if other writers experience the same thing?
She reads her blog entry over, cringing slightly at how lame it sounds compared to Stephanie Rowe’s really cool entry about her socks, then presses the "Publish Post" button.