I'm in the fourth week of my writing class and it's going well so far. I've turned in 3 "homework" assignments and have received pretty good feedback on all of them. Everything is done online which is good and bad. I like the anonymity of an online class. No one knows anything about me other than what I shared in my brief bio. It makes presenting my writing to a bunch of people I dont konw a lot less intimidating. I like being able to work from the comfort of home but at the same time it's hard to find the time to sit down and do it. It's not like there is a designated time where I have to go to class. I have a week to read the lecture and submit my homework. Which seems like a lot of time but when I come home from work I am ready to turn my brain off and just relax. I have to get in a certain mindset to write and it's hard to do sometimes. I actually tend to do a lot if while I'm at work (shh don't tell my boss!) when I have some downtime. My brain is already in full gear and I find some of my best work comes out at that time.
Writing for kids has proven to be harder than I thought it would be. I've read a lot of childen's book and they seemed easy enough to write, but it's difficult to find the right words and tone. It's been hard for me to simplify things to the point where it makes sense to a child but doesn't sound condescending. There are various types of childen's books based on age and I think I just need to find the right niche for my style of writing. This week I had to submit a "booth" assignment. This is a more formal writing vs the weekly exercises and it is submitted for the entire class to critique as well as the teacher. I'm a little nervous to see what my classmates have to say but also anxious. I've been checking everyday to see if I've received any feedback. None so far, but it is required as part of the class so I know there will be something soon enough. So, I thought I'd post my little story here as well. I usually don't like sharing my work and tend to be very private about it, but if I'm going to possibly consider trying to write a book and have it published I should probably get over that! A little background: I actually wrote this as an assignment for a previous class I took through the same online school. I revised it a bit and submitted as a potential story to be aimed at young adults (ages 13-18). This is just a portion of what the overall story will end up being - this is just as far as I have gotten.
So here it is. Is it weird that I feel kind of sick to my stomach right now that I'm putting this out there for all eyes? Feedback is appreciated - just be nice ;)
The train pulled into a dark tunnel and began to slow to a stop. As the doors whooshed open I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I’m really here. I can’t believe I’m really here. Although my nerves were overpowering, after forty hours on a train I was just happy to be using my legs again.
I stepped off the train and was instantly swept up in the tide of people heading into Grand Central Station with its bright lights, high ceilings, and overall chaotic air. I had never traveled far outside Arkansas where I was born and raised in a small farm community. The train station alone contained more people than my town and the neighboring counties combined. I weaved through the bustling crowd trying to make eye contact with someone in order to ask for directions. But people in New York weren’t near as friendly as the people I left behind who offered a smile and a wave to every passerby. These people walked with their heads down, seeming to be in a hurry and not in a good mood. I tried to smile at one woman, but she looked right through me and continued on her way. I managed to follow the signs above the arched doorways out onto the streets of the city. The skyline glowed with the tallest buildings I’d ever seen, neon signs, and a string of headlights whizzing by. But there was no time for me to stand around and admire this new world. I had an audition to get to.
I stepped up to the curb and put my right arm out, attempting to hail a cab the way I had seen the glamorous girls in Sex and The City do. I nearly got run over while cars whizzed by, blaring their horns. I took a few steps back from the curb and proceeded to wave my hand frantically at every cab I saw. When one finally stopped in front of me, I jumped in the back seat and shut the door, embracing the sudden silence. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I felt safe in the back seat of this car. It was the most familiar place I had been all day.
I looked into the front seat and was greeted by dark beady eyes in the rearview mirror. The cab driver wore a Yankees baseball cap and asked in a thick accent I had never heard before, “Where to?”
“Umm, oh yeah, just a minute.” I searched through my purse and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Ok, here we go. I need to get to The Broadway Theater at 1681 Broadway.”
As I was putting the paper back into my purse, I happened to catch a glimpse of my watch. My audition was in twenty minutes!
“And if you could please hurry, I would really appreciate it. I’m auditioning for Grease at 7:30 and I need time to warm up and get ready.” I smiled at the driver in the rear view mirror, hoping he would understand my rush.
He just glared at me and turned back to the busy street ahead. I stretched to look out the front window and was horrified to see an unmoving mass of red taillights. I sank into the seat. This is it, I thought. I’m not going to make it to my audition. I worked so hard and waited so long for this opportunity and I’m not going to make it. My eyes filled with tears and the beautiful city lights became a soupy blur. All of a sudden I lurched forward nearly smashing my forehead into the seat in front of me. The cab driver took off and began weaving through traffic. Angry horns screamed expletives at us as we inched around the other cars. Then we were whizzing down one way streets, making sharp turns, and finally we stopped. We had arrived at The Broadway Theater with ten minutes to spare. I was so happy that I started crying again.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what this means for me. I love you!”
The cab driver glanced at me in the rear view mirror again. His glare was slightly softened but he didn’t say anything. I pulled a wad of cash out of my purse and gave it to him without counting it.
“Keep the change,” I shouted over my shoulder as I jumped out of the cab. “You are the best cab driver in New York City!”
I shut the door and looked up at the theater in awe. The building was massive compared to the little community center where I had been performing my entire life. I could only imagine what the stage would be like! The marquee was lit up advertising the latest show, Wicked, and the tall black sign with huge white block letters let me know I was in the right place, BROADWAY. This is it, I thought. I’m finally here. I’m going to be a Broadway star.
