I simultaneously take a sip of my herbal tea and put my fuzzy green pen to my special journal. Nothing comes out. No storyline, characters, nada. As I think, what’s wrong with me? I also think, I’m not a writer. I can’t write. I was fresh out of ideas, leaving the last thing for me to write about was my life and only changing the names of different people…no, I would write my book.
About what, though?
No clue. Zip, zilch, nada.
My overgrown bangs fell out of my ponytail and into my pimply face. With an exasperated sigh, I blew my bangs out, only to have them cave back in. I just couldn’t win.
Soccer? No, it was a boring subject. I had already written fifteen short stories and poems about soccer and the soccer star I wished I was. But it wasn’t going to happen.
My mind was on short-term thinking in the heat. My mind flitted back to the beginning of summer when I finally accomplished running the full-length of the track. Nah. I’d written a lot in my journal about that. The topic was boring. Everything was boring. Unless…
I pushed my bangs aside with a hair clip sitting on my journal. Ah, I could see. Now I knew what to write about. Me, and how I hated and loved what I could and couldn’t do. I begin to put my pen to paper and the words magically flow, giving me a descriptive paragraph about me.
Me

I, Lola St. James, am a thirteen -year-old girl with messy brown hair and overgrown bangs. The bangs are what I need to change about myself. Maybe let them grow out or get them cut. But I like it anyway, always having to blow them out of my pimply face when I get fiery mad, and when they keep returning. I am tall for my age and enjoy towering above everybody else for a short amount of time – until they start to catch up and pass me by in height. I have a passion for soccer yet I am not the star player, enjoy track to build endurance and to help me with running up and down the soccer field better, and am not a typical girly-girl. I am average. I hate pink, and love bright, enthusiastic colors that seem to pop out at you and soar above the other typical, boring colors that seem to have no life, yet all colors have some life in one way or another. I absolutely hate it when my little sister comes knocking on my door when I need privacy, but who’s perfect? I yell at her all the time and get into a lot of trouble but isn’t even my fault. I want to soar above others – I do, I’m tall, right? But not for long. Everybody’s interests will pass mine someday, and when that happens, well…I’ll be okay with it. I also don’t understand why most girls love pink. If you’re one of them, I understand, it’s a cool color, but it’s not me. Most girly-girls are into pink. I like blues and greens and purples (both dark and bright purple), vivid colors to spark imagination. So that pretty much sums it up. Except I want to be a national sports player, musician, and banjo player when I grow up. So I’m satisfied right now and it pretty much sums it up about what I like and don’t like, and what my plans are in the future.
***
I rest my hand on the patio table. Finished at last! It was a Lola St. James masterpiece. Now I had to show my friends and get feedback. But they probably won’t like it because of the pink comment. Anyway, I feel bad about writing what I don’t like, and why I don’t like it, but it absolutely had to be in there. And I forgot something! Reading. I love reading and writing and art. Shouldn’t I put that in there, too? Oh well, I could revise it sooner or later. I chose later.
“LOLA!” my terrifying little sister screams. “YOUR DOOR’S LOCKED!”
“Exactly,” I say casually, leaning back in my chair to enjoy the rest of summer before school starts again. Yup, I had a good life. Minus my little sister screaming in the background, that is…
TO BE CONTINUED SOONER OR LATER