The Last Story - Chapter 1
You are introduced to Marissa Carming and begin to learn how she lives her life.
Chapter 1
"I've always wanted to write a love story. Not one of those classic ones; one that sums up a classic one but in a modern way. After seventeen years of schooling, I am standing here telling you all that I am still incapable of writing a love story. I realize that my readers have been asking for a love story for years, but unfortunately, I am only full of horror. Everyone thinks that my ability to describe things well, and the way I can get my point across in a way so intricate that no one else could have thought of it, that I am capable of writing anything. I thank you all for your support, but as a great writer once said, 'You can only write from experience.' All of my books are about what horrors you can find in people, about twisting the description of a person but keeping their natural personality and creating a true monster. With that said, I am not here to lecture you on my disabilities, but on my creations. Tomorrow is the launch of my newest book, Down Greenwood Avenue. The book signing will start at eight in the morning and continue until five that evening. I truly hope all of you enjoy it. Have a good evening!"
"Marissa! Marissa! Can we ask you a question?" reporters swarmed around me as I exited the building. Ever since my first novel had been published sixteen years ago, I always had paparazzi on my tail and reporters swarming around. There were blogs, internet sites, launching meetings, and worst of all: fancy dinners. Tonight was the launch of my newest novel, and I had been swamped all day with signings, meetings, speeches, and was off to my next dinner.
Most ten year old girls dream of being an author. I don't dream; I do. So when I finished my first book, I called an editor. He was shocked to say the least. His first guess was plagiarism; there was no way that this little kid had created this! But unfortunately for me, I had written it, and even made a contract stating that I would write at least one book a year for the next ten years. "Do you want to be a writer? You'll make lots of money and just get to write anything you want to!" he had offered. Who would turn down that offer? Me. "No mister, I am going to be an author until I am twenty-seven. That's when I am going to fall in love and get married!" And that's how I got my seventeen yearlong contract.
By the time I turned twelve, I was sick of writing. I wasn't allowed to continue on with ballet. And when all my friends joined our school cheer leading team, I was at home trying to write down all my thoughts on a piece of paper and turn that into a masterpiece. When I got writer's block, I would keep writing. When I was supposed to be sleeping, I would keep writing. When I was supposed to be doing my homework, I kept writing. Guess who flunked out of college.
I had fulfilled my contract entirely. Sixteen books had come out of my head, one way or another, and my last book had already been started. It was supposed to be a love story, but as I had mentioned in my speech, no thoughts of love had ever drifted into my head. Because my mother had forced me to write and focus on school when I wasn't writing, I never had a boyfriend, and never really had a crush either. Everyone just told me, "If you're going to be famous, you have to work. Look at all the people in the media. All of their relationships are countless. Sometimes you don't even know that they were married until they get divorced. Do you want to be like that, or do you want to really fall in love?"
As a result, I ended up spending most of my Friday and Saturday nights at Starbucks drinking lattes and working on my latest story. I didn't really know what else to do. If I ever got writer's block or was angry, I would write. When I was happy, I would write. I can't remember not writing all the time. It was just pounded into my head. Write. When you don't have anything to do, you write. When you don't know what to do, you write. So I wrote all the time, no matter what.
Sometimes a man would walk up to me with an arrogant smile on his face and ask me if he could sit down. Sometimes they would ask to buy me a drink or if I wanted to go out. Occasionally, I would be blessed with the 'what are you writing' line. If they knew me, they would ask for a signature. But nobody really ever talked to me. Most people just assumed that I was too busy to talk, that I didn't want to, or that I was just showing off the fact that I had a laptop and Microsoft Word.
All I ever wanted out of life was a friend; a real friend that didn't use me. However, my only friends were my editor and publisher, if you didn't count my family. And you can't forget my fans and business partners. I would be graced with their presence this evening. Who would have known that writers don't really get to have fun? We get to spend all of our time griping about life and spilling our emotions and then when we go out into public, we get to plaster fake smiles on our faces and try to seem at least semi-nice. The truth is: most writers don't like giving speeches and talking to the press or their fans. Writers enjoy solitude or a few people around them to give them very much-needed support.
The cab driver pulled up to my apartment and spun around. "That'll be twenty-five eighty-seven," he demanded in his thick accent. I handed over the money and headed up to room 206 to get ready for this huge dinner. Whoever said having dinner at eight at night was a psychopath. I was absolutely starved and it was only six thirty! This left me over an hour to prepare for the dreadful night.
Please give me any advice and tell me what you thought!
"I've always wanted to write a love story. Not one of those classic ones; one that sums up a classic one but in a modern way. After seventeen years of schooling, I am standing here telling you all that I am still incapable of writing a love story. I realize that my readers have been asking for a love story for years, but unfortunately, I am only full of horror. Everyone thinks that my ability to describe things well, and the way I can get my point across in a way so intricate that no one else could have thought of it, that I am capable of writing anything. I thank you all for your support, but as a great writer once said, 'You can only write from experience.' All of my books are about what horrors you can find in people, about twisting the description of a person but keeping their natural personality and creating a true monster. With that said, I am not here to lecture you on my disabilities, but on my creations. Tomorrow is the launch of my newest book, Down Greenwood Avenue. The book signing will start at eight in the morning and continue until five that evening. I truly hope all of you enjoy it. Have a good evening!"
"Marissa! Marissa! Can we ask you a question?" reporters swarmed around me as I exited the building. Ever since my first novel had been published sixteen years ago, I always had paparazzi on my tail and reporters swarming around. There were blogs, internet sites, launching meetings, and worst of all: fancy dinners. Tonight was the launch of my newest novel, and I had been swamped all day with signings, meetings, speeches, and was off to my next dinner.
Most ten year old girls dream of being an author. I don't dream; I do. So when I finished my first book, I called an editor. He was shocked to say the least. His first guess was plagiarism; there was no way that this little kid had created this! But unfortunately for me, I had written it, and even made a contract stating that I would write at least one book a year for the next ten years. "Do you want to be a writer? You'll make lots of money and just get to write anything you want to!" he had offered. Who would turn down that offer? Me. "No mister, I am going to be an author until I am twenty-seven. That's when I am going to fall in love and get married!" And that's how I got my seventeen yearlong contract.
By the time I turned twelve, I was sick of writing. I wasn't allowed to continue on with ballet. And when all my friends joined our school cheer leading team, I was at home trying to write down all my thoughts on a piece of paper and turn that into a masterpiece. When I got writer's block, I would keep writing. When I was supposed to be sleeping, I would keep writing. When I was supposed to be doing my homework, I kept writing. Guess who flunked out of college.
I had fulfilled my contract entirely. Sixteen books had come out of my head, one way or another, and my last book had already been started. It was supposed to be a love story, but as I had mentioned in my speech, no thoughts of love had ever drifted into my head. Because my mother had forced me to write and focus on school when I wasn't writing, I never had a boyfriend, and never really had a crush either. Everyone just told me, "If you're going to be famous, you have to work. Look at all the people in the media. All of their relationships are countless. Sometimes you don't even know that they were married until they get divorced. Do you want to be like that, or do you want to really fall in love?"
As a result, I ended up spending most of my Friday and Saturday nights at Starbucks drinking lattes and working on my latest story. I didn't really know what else to do. If I ever got writer's block or was angry, I would write. When I was happy, I would write. I can't remember not writing all the time. It was just pounded into my head. Write. When you don't have anything to do, you write. When you don't know what to do, you write. So I wrote all the time, no matter what.
Sometimes a man would walk up to me with an arrogant smile on his face and ask me if he could sit down. Sometimes they would ask to buy me a drink or if I wanted to go out. Occasionally, I would be blessed with the 'what are you writing' line. If they knew me, they would ask for a signature. But nobody really ever talked to me. Most people just assumed that I was too busy to talk, that I didn't want to, or that I was just showing off the fact that I had a laptop and Microsoft Word.
All I ever wanted out of life was a friend; a real friend that didn't use me. However, my only friends were my editor and publisher, if you didn't count my family. And you can't forget my fans and business partners. I would be graced with their presence this evening. Who would have known that writers don't really get to have fun? We get to spend all of our time griping about life and spilling our emotions and then when we go out into public, we get to plaster fake smiles on our faces and try to seem at least semi-nice. The truth is: most writers don't like giving speeches and talking to the press or their fans. Writers enjoy solitude or a few people around them to give them very much-needed support.
The cab driver pulled up to my apartment and spun around. "That'll be twenty-five eighty-seven," he demanded in his thick accent. I handed over the money and headed up to room 206 to get ready for this huge dinner. Whoever said having dinner at eight at night was a psychopath. I was absolutely starved and it was only six thirty! This left me over an hour to prepare for the dreadful night.
Please give me any advice and tell me what you thought!
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