idea #3 - the photographer.

Again, this is just an idea that popped into my head late one night.

Lucille Burgess loved photography. Ever since she’d received her first camera on a white Christmas morning ten years ago, she couldn’t leave home without it. Day after day Lucille would stuff the Nikon into a maroon-colored case, throw it over her shoulder, and out the door she’d go. The camera was like her soul mate; it was the love of her life.

      No one could understand why this prized possession was always by her side. Did it represent something special? Was it something to distract her in her spare time? Did she want to be prepared to capture a perfect moment? Whenever someone asked Lucille about the Nikon, she would simply say, “Because it keeps me company.”

       How would a camera entertain an average 16-year-old girl? Despite the fact that it could take beautiful photographs, there wasn’t much more you could do with it. Share secrets with it? No. Laugh with it? Negative. Hold it when you were in tears? Certainly this could not be the case.

       Lucille was never made fun of for having such an affinity for her sleek black camera. In fact, people envied her not caring of what others thought. Her outfits were strange, her hairstyle was different, and she wore little makeup. All in all, Lucille was satisfied with herself. No one could change her; she was who she was.

     One chilly October morning, Lucille woke up to the sun shining down on her pretty face. She blinked a couple times, her blue eyes slowly adjusting to the penetrating light. If only every morning could be like this, she thought to herself as she sat upright. She took a good look around her small bedroom; it was the same as always: the china dolls side by side on that dusty bookshelf, the chandelier hanging loosely on the tall ceiling, the blue alarm clock ticking rhythmically, the flowery curtains swaying back and forth, back and forth. Lucille had always loved the decorations in her room. It showed off her personality perfectly. If only everyone would express their true colors instead of worrying what other people might think of them, Lucille thought.

      She sat there for a long time, admiring the blueness of the sky, the beautiful views of the distant mountains. Finally her 11-year-old sister, Michelle, stumbled into the room breathless.

      “Lucy!” Michelle gasped, struggling for air after running up all those stairs. “Come downstairs for breakfast. Mom made your favorite today.” Lucille nodded, though she was not paying any attention. 

What did you think of it so far? Like the previous story, this probably won't turn into a real book with a legitimate conflict and solution. 

♥ Abigail ♥

idea #2 - new girl.

This is a story probably never to be written.

There she sat, eating lunch by herself. She had a peanut butter sandwich in one hand, a book in the other. I had always been curious about the new girl. She seemed like a normal person with a normal face and normal clothes…until you knew her personally.

I’d been hearing rumors that she was born into a psycho maniac family with a rock for a pet and a tent in the wilderness for a house. Others say she was in a terrible accident a few years ago and later vowed that she would never have any friends again. Both stories I couldn’t comprehend. If either of those events really occurred in her life, wouldn’t she be something other than your average Joe? Every day I examined her with curiosity. She never noticed that everyone was staring; she always walked to her next class standing tall with her shoulders wide. She always had her hair in a ponytail and a pencil in her ear. She wore the same jeans everyone else wore, sneakers that everyone else had, and a different color sweater on. She had hundreds of sweaters; she never wore the same one. That caught my attention even more.

Her name was Valerie, the prettiest name I’d ever heard. I sat next to her in science class, and I always watched her when she printed her name neatly on the “name” line on our assignments. Then she would stick the pencil back in her ear and look directly at the teacher, never at anyone else or anything. Never did she make eye contact with anyone except to the person talking to her. I had always been afraid to say anything, for she seemed to have the stare of a hawk. She didn’t have soft, gentle eyes; they were bitter and small. If she ever looked at me I would almost faint of anxiety. So, I kept to myself and never bothered to make conversation with her.

One day, she did look at me for the very first time. When she should really be focusing on the teacher, she turned her head and whispered to me, “What’s your name?” I froze, shocked by the sweet tone in her voice. Though her eyes didn’t look at all friendly, her voice comforted me.

After a few moments of no reply, she then asked, “Why don’t you ever talk to me? We do sit next to each other, after all.”

I finally managed to make my mouth move. “I’m Jillian. Jillian Crosby.” I held my hand out for her to shake it. She took it, obviously flattered that I finally spoke. That was when the teacher told us to quiet down. After that we never said anything ever again.

Now here she was, eating her sandwich with her nose stuffed in a book. She didn’t seem to mind that she was all alone and people were talking behind her back. She took tiny bites out of the bread and paused occasionally to turn the page in her book or take a sip from her water bottle. While my friends around me giggled about this strange new girl, I stared with awe and amazement. How could she not care about what others thought? For me, I felt that I always had to wear the perfect amount of makeup or just the right shirt to impress someone. It wasn’t until Mackenzie said something to me that I looked away.

Mackenzie was my best friend who had always lived next door to me since second grade. She and I climbed the trees in the park together, painted each other’s nails, rode bikes all the way across town together, hugged each other when one of us was down, and even smoked our first cigarette together. Of course, we coughed and gagged and promised we would never try that again.

“Jill, what do you think about that new girl Valerie?” Mackenzie asked, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re always staring at her; do you want to be her friend?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, taking a bite out of my pizza. “I just glance at her occasionally. Nothing wrong with that.”

My mind went blank right after I wrote that last sentence. So, what did you think of it so far? Even though it probably won't turn into a legitimate plot, it's a draft.

 ♥ Abigail ♥ 

for my brother.

Today is my brother Madison's 20th birthday.

I decided to write him a letter.

It is not a story idea, but I felt that I should share with you all.

For a Special Someone

Madison,

You’re 20.

The age I never thought you’d be.

The age where you go from immature teenage boy to adult.

The age where you sound like an older man.

I wish I could jump in your arms today and wish you “happy birthday”.

I wish I could see your face in person.

I wish I could make a homemade present and give it to you when we go out to dinner, like we always did on someone’s birthday.

But I can’t.

You’re out doing the world a favor.

You’re serving a mission.

Though waking up in a small Austin, Texas apartment with only your companion there isn’t the ideal birthday…

…it sure sounds fine to me.

I just want to say thank you for always being there for me.

You always made me laugh at the littlest things.

You were someone I could brag to all my friends about.

You were my personal tickle monster.

Even though you said very few words, being the quiet guy you are, I always appreciated you.

I’ve always thought your name was cool, even if it sounded like a girl’s.

I am not one who expresses their feelings whenever they can.

In fact, I can’t even tell people how much I love them even when I really want to.

But right now I just want to tell you, my brother, that I love you; I always have, and I always will.

Keep up the good work, Maddy-boy.

Love,

Abigail Alice Mangum

Your favorite little sister

♥ Abigail ♥