Narrative Story

Laura Combs

English 101

Begert

October 14, 2015

Narrative Story




This is a story of a pretty dramatic event that happened in the middle of my junior year in highschool. To an adult, this may not be a huge deal, to a 16 year old, though, this was basically hell.

It all started with a project assigned in my Creative Writing class; a thirty page minimum fictional story. I remember when it was first assigned, and I thought this would be quite easy. Thirty pages of something completely made up? Piece of cake. Not to mention, we had about a month to complete it. But...it started to get more difficult. It wasn’t easy for me to think of a story. Days went by, and I still didn’t have a clue on what to write about. Finally, I had an idea for a story. It was going to be about a woman who worked at a big corporation in New York City. She had a boyfriend who lived in Detroit, who loved her very much, but had a history of drug problems. I wanted the characters to have a special history together, so I made it so they had been dating for 5+ years. So, it sounds like I have this story pretty much set, right? Well… not exactly.

I’m in the classroom, working on a laptop. Around me are students focusing with their eyes glued to their papers, and a few odd ones throwing erasers at each other. I can hear people whispering but I try to focus on my paper. The small amount of focus I had for this project was distracted by the fact that Mona Lisa's eyes were reading over my shoulder from the wall behind me. I hear students clicking their pens, tapping on keyboards, and scooting their chairs. I hear the girl next to me breathing, she had recently gotten over a cold and was quite sniffly. Two weeks had gone by, two left to go, and I have about 5 pages done on my paper. I have a pretty good backstory, however I was having trouble creating conflict and a good climax. How is it that I only had 5 pages out of 30 when other students were almost done? I’m usually creative and thoughtful about my projects, but this is too vague for me. The stress starts to consume me, but not enough to brainstorm any good ideas. (This was when I was 16, so I didn’t have a good work ethic, nor an idea to jot down ideas before typing it straight onto the computer.) I’m still in my seat, staring at a computer screen, and I don’t know where to go from here with my story. I start to notice scents. I smell a musty carpet and the crackers next to me. I smell the mint from my gum. And thankfully, the person that threw up was in the room over from mine, where I couldn't smell but heard about later. Phew!

Week three:

Here I am, back in the classroom. I have about 15 pages done. I have a pretty good story so far, I just need to thicken the plot. Some of these students are already done! I may only have a week left to do this, but I’m more than halfway finished now. I got this...right? The only problem is… I have major writer's block. But... I'm staying calm. I take a break from doing-well...nothing, and start to notice the other students. I’ve been focusing so much on this project that I haven’t even seen my peers. They look like me, but different. The girl that sits beside me has long, straight brown hair, and the girl next to her has a blue streak in hers along with a nose ring. I like the diversity, however I do notice that there isn’t a single person in the class without brown hair. The dialogue going around is very minimal, if you ignored the small whispers and little snorts. Most of what I heard was in my head. The other students are acting a lot like me. I could tell we were all nervous for only having a week left to do this project, but relieved that we had class time to do it. That resulted in fidgety students, getting up often to go to the bathroom, crouching next to my teacher's desk to ask a question, or just chatting with a friend. There were a few oddballs doing things like taking pictures of a gummy bear on the ceiling though…

The last day to finish this project has come. (more like the last few hours I have to finish this project.) I have to turn this in first thing in the morning. The battery on the computer is low, but I’m only a few pages away from having this done, I just have no idea how to end it. I need there to be a dramatic ending but I can’t think of anything except pizza right now. I bring myself together and whip up a way to keep my audience involved in this paper I’ve been working on for a month. I’m sitting at home on my laptop, it’s about 2 A.M. I’m exhausted and just want this to be over. I get up to take a bathroom break and come back to see a blank screen. No. No. No. I run over to the keyboard and hit as many buttons as I can. I grab the charger to plug it in… I’m actually freaking out. When was the last time I saved it? Why didn’t I plug this in earlier. Stress fills my mind just thinking of all of the unfortunate possibilities. I open up the document and thank the lord, it’s fine. So many emotions have overcome me in these past 30 something seconds! All that matters is that this is almost over. I bring myself together and I finally come up with an ending, and as soon as I enter the last word, I jump up and literally scream out of joy.

The fact that this paper that has been giving me anxiety for weeks is finally over gave me such a good feeling. Knowing that it was just pages of exhaustion, confusion, and boredom gave me such relief. At the end of the day, this wasn’t just a project. This was a story, this was a life lesson, and this was a pretty... interesting memory. Life does funny things to you, and when you least expect it, something that you may think was terrible can turn out to be such a pleasant thing. Looking back, this project taught me to be a better writer. It taught me how to manage my time better. It gave me a story to tell in college! And in all honesty...it made me value the little things. Projects like this are something that everyone goes through, and just being able to share my story is kind of a gift. My mother used to tell me that every day is a gift, and the chance to learn from yourself is one of the biggest gifts of all. This story matters to me because it is a reflection of myself, something that I can share with others. It also taught me that hard work really does pay off. If this hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have as much respect for the writers that do this every day, and I wouldn’t have known that I could do it too.