“I pull into the driveway of my little house,” Wait, let me rephrase that! “I pull into the driveway of our little hovel.” my pen scribbles as it flies across the page. I stop my hand and stare at the page. Nope! I rip the paper out of my shrinking notebook, crumple it up, and throw it in the general direction of my overflowing trash bin. I glare at the blank sheet staring back at me. “So, how’s my favorite writer today?” says Jasper as he throws his body down into my computer chair. It slides across the wooden floor with ease and collides with my writing desk, making me turn and cast a snarl his way. Jasper’s warm laugh fills the stale air, “Writer’s block?” I nod, before I let my head and shoulders go limp, my head crashes into my hands,
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Jasper made sure we watched my favorite episode, “Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie”. I laughed so hard when the clowns that were going to kill Sam, exploded in sparkly confetti.
After the episode was over, our meal was prepared, so we took it back to the living room and turned on, “Alice in Wonderland”, The one that came out in 2010, not the cartoon version.
By the time we watched Alice killed the jabberwocky, it had already reached eight. Jasper decided he was going to pick what we watched next, and that was Game of Thrones, starting at the beginning. While I was getting the tv set up, Jasper went and made popcorn. We ate a majority of it. We made it through to about episode three before we fell asleep.
I woke up about two hours later. Jasper was dead to the world and sprawled out on the couch, with popcorn in his hair. I withheld my giggle as I pulled each piece out of his hair. I can’t believe we couldn’t even make it to episode five before we zonked out. I still can’t believe my dream either. Jasper was a hero, Game of Thrones style. But it was really weird, with unicorns, deadly clowns, and in the setting of Wonderland. WAIT ONE MINUTE! That is perfect! Nobody has ever written a story like …show more content…
By seven, in the morning may I remind you, my story’s first half was complete, or at least the rough draft. It totaled at one hundred and thirty pages. I bet with part two my next draft will reach five hundred and some pages. I sigh as I hear the printer doing it’s job. Tomorrow, I’ll have to take it to my publisher and see if he likes the idea, otherwise I need to find another profession. I rest my head onto my arms. This book could make me famous, or flush my career as a writer down the toilet. This is a make it or break it situation, I hope my publisher likes the first little glimpse into the story. Somehow, through all those troubling thoughts, I was able to pass out, my heads on my
Jasper made sure we watched my favorite episode, “Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie”. I laughed so hard when the clowns that were going to kill Sam, exploded in sparkly confetti.
After the episode was over, our meal was prepared, so we took it back to the living room and turned on, “Alice in Wonderland”, The one that came out in 2010, not the cartoon version.
By the time we watched Alice killed the jabberwocky, it had already reached eight. Jasper decided he was going to pick what we watched next, and that was Game of Thrones, starting at the beginning. While I was getting the tv set up, Jasper went and made popcorn. We ate a majority of it. We made it through to about episode three before we fell asleep.
I woke up about two hours later. Jasper was dead to the world and sprawled out on the couch, with popcorn in his hair. I withheld my giggle as I pulled each piece out of his hair. I can’t believe we couldn’t even make it to episode five before we zonked out. I still can’t believe my dream either. Jasper was a hero, Game of Thrones style. But it was really weird, with unicorns, deadly clowns, and in the setting of Wonderland. WAIT ONE MINUTE! That is perfect! Nobody has ever written a story like …show more content…
By seven, in the morning may I remind you, my story’s first half was complete, or at least the rough draft. It totaled at one hundred and thirty pages. I bet with part two my next draft will reach five hundred and some pages. I sigh as I hear the printer doing it’s job. Tomorrow, I’ll have to take it to my publisher and see if he likes the idea, otherwise I need to find another profession. I rest my head onto my arms. This book could make me famous, or flush my career as a writer down the toilet. This is a make it or break it situation, I hope my publisher likes the first little glimpse into the story. Somehow, through all those troubling thoughts, I was able to pass out, my heads on my