On Writing

WRITING

7:15pm Sunday

(Jillian) stared emotionless as the city scenery whipped by her.

(Jillian) stared out of the window as the train made its descent into Grand Central Station. She stared emotionless at the city scenery as it all whipped by her.

Jillian stared out of the window of the speeding Amtrak train and watched flashes of New York City whip by her. The scenery was not pretty. There was no bright green grass or wild purple flowers covering the ground. The sun wasn't shining exceptionally bright on a reflecting pool of water. Gargantuan fir, maple, or dreamy sleeping willow trees were no where to be found in the landscape. Instead where grass could've grown (and probably did a century ago) were long strips of old and cracked concrete. Trees too young and fragile to stand on their own (the mayor's idea of city beautification) were in danger of being blown away at the mere suggestion of a strong wind. The bigger trees were dwarfed by projects that stood fifteen feet tall and took up three full blocks.

Whoa! That sounds good I beam brightly as I read over my first paragraph. I'm so excited this is going to be easier than I thought. I'm a natural. I want to be a celebrated author. I want to be an author who can detail life and experiences with poetic and literary elegance. A style that people feel exudes off the paper into their soul. I want to be able to tell a great story like Maya Angelou, Margaret Mitchell, and my absolute favorite Stephen King.

Thirty minutes a day is all great authors say it takes to write a novel just a mere thirty minutes I can do that easily. I wish I had a laptop though it would be so much more convenient. I could write everywhere. On the train¦sitting in the library, no, no sitting in a fancy restaurant on a bright Sunday morning looking all
intelligent... and cute because I'll have on a nice outfit nothing real flashy but something sophisticated like some black Capri's and a nice white shirt with some little patent leather flats and some real cool sunglasses on my head. I'll be oblivious to everyone because I'll be so deep into my novel and becoming a great author. And some cute artsy type guy will probably become so¦. Okay I have to stay focused now back to my book. I don't want to let myself get distracted. And I have twenty-five more minutes to go.

No the scenery was not beautiful thought Jillian but it wasn't Boston and at that moment anywhere on earth but Boston was beautiful to her¦in fact the south side of hell seemed nice compared to home. She closed her eyes and wished that the train would never stop, never reaching a destination, only briefly stopping for an occasional pit stop. I don't need anymore than pit stops anyway, she thought solemnly as the train began to slow for its descent into Grand Central Station. The train would stop and soon she would be home. A two hour layover in New York City, a four and a half-hour ride into Boston. Six and a half-hours and she would be home¦ home.

7:25 Sunday
MMMMMM tapping my pen my mind tries to think of what should come next. Okay she is in Grand Central Station with her babies mourning her marriage¦. Mourning her marriage; that sounds so literary like. Sometimes I can be so cool. Tap. Tap. Tap. I can feel my head start to hurt. Just a little¦ like everything writing is work so it's silly of me to think that this should come easy. I have to put the time and effort into it if I really want to be a great writer, right. I have to be willing to do research and put as much as my spare time as I possibly can to put out a bestseller.

Speaking of research maybe I should call Jillian and ask her if she minds if I use her name in my book. It's not like it's a definite that I will keep it but I'll ask just in case. I jump up from the kitchen table to call Jill but stop myself and make myself sit right back down. Its just thirty minutes and I have to become disciplined just to sit and write thirty minutes without letting my mind wander. Letting myself get comfortable in my kitchen chair I pick up my eleven-dollar pen I bought today. I love this pen! It is so cute and it's the color of a platinum silver BMW, a car I will own one day if I can just sit here for thirty minutes a day and write, the pen it writes so smooth. This is definitely a writer's pen. I stare blankly at the pages and over my two paragraphs and smile to myself I love the notebook too. It's purple! You really can't be a great author if you don't have the proper accessories, accessories that will put you in the mood to write. And that is the most important thing is to actually write. I probably would write a whole lot better if I had a laptop. I could take it everywhere like the Laundromat, the subway or a real cool restaurant¦