Friday, 15 March 2013

Ponytail Start Girl

Every now and then a writer gets a spur of inspiration and decides to sit down with a computer screen in hand and a several hundred thousand word goal. There are those, that sit there with such a determination that after several millions cups of coffee, three computers and that little laptop you found in the street collection, they do reach their goal. Once this far some are lucky enough to get it published, others are lucky enough to be bothered to self-publish and then the others are lucky enough to not care either way and have it sit collecting dust. There are then, of course, the people who have the several millions cups of coffee, three computer and that little laptop, but still never manage to complete their goal. This could be for several reasons; lack of inspiration, no time, or they already have the whole story planned out in their head and that makes them happy enough that they don't need to write the rest. I'd say may problem is a combination of the first and the last. There is a reason why I never plan out a story before I write it. But now I am determined, I want to be one of those first people that let their novel sit and collect dust (because I doubt I'll be the other two). I have the time (those thats debatable as I will need to get a proper job to pay for those several million cup of coffee), and I have the inspiration. And, the best of all, despite the fact that I did write the end before I even decided to write the rest of the story, I have no idea what's going to happen in the middle. Anything can happen. So, without much ado, I present to you my several hundred word spurred by several hundreds coffees story; Ponytail Start Girl. I hope that you enjoy, not get too confused, and no matter what you read, everything is meant to be there.

It starts with a girl, with ponytails and two hands; eight fingers, two thumbs, some toes and a little pink nose. She was youngish and her blonde hair sometimes looked grey in the light. She wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up, or a princess, but her parents made sure she was never too hopeful.
There’s moments in childhood when the mind flits between dreams, when they know what they want inside, and then find another. They can do anything they want, they can be anything they want to be. What is it that forces them to lose those dreams? When does the ballerina stop believing they can be a tap dancer?
One day he put on his tap shoes and danced around the house, cracking the tiles and singing away the moths. Who knew how he could one day be an astronaut and fly to the moon whilst gazing around at stars with dancing people called Marty.
Our ponytail girl, now she was a pretty girl, quite pretty, absolutely gorgeous as her parents would say. She stopped believing them though when they started calling her sister gorgeous. But she’s ugly, she would say, she’s not gorgeous. You’re both gorgeous. She didn’t see anything beautiful about her sister. Gorgeous means ugly then. Of course not. She didn’t like being called gorgeous. She grew though, as any person would. Age could not be defied by her as slowly, she lost her innocence. To some she lost her beauty, to others she gained it.
She meet a woman from the red part of town, glazed in pettiness.
“You could be a right picture you know girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Slash you up with some powder, cut that skirt and you could be pitch perfect.”
“I don’t want that.”
“You got too much pride, is that it?”
“No. I just don’t want that.”
“What are you doing around here then, looking for your own doll?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“So you are looking for a little grub.”
“I have to get going.”
“Bet you need it, that’s why you’re here. You need some dough. Parents push you out, that it?”
“My parents are royalty.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
And for those who feel inspired to read more, let me direct you here:

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