I've been telling myself this for...oh, about my whole life. I've got stories running through my head constantly and every once in a while I'll think, "Okay, now that's a really good idea for my book!" But then I get busy again, the momentum is gone, and pretty soon the idea is forgotten.
But this past month or so, I've really been thinking that I want to write. Not lesson plans, not journal entries, not comments on student essays...I want to actually work on this book of mine. A colleague of mine has been writing a book as part of a 30-day challenge, and she's inspired me. So maybe I'll never finish this story, and maybe it will never see the light of day, but today I'm starting. I'm going to harness all of those thoughts that are running through my head and try to get at least the beginnings of a prologue down. Let me know what you think.
The pain settles deep into my stomach, tying itself in knots and pulling the rest of my body with it. Why couldn't I have stopped this? Why wasn't I strong enough?
As the mourners drift silently away from the small cluster around the grave, I look down at my hands and snort in derision. What good is all that magic if I couldn't even save my best friend? Sure, I can conjure up beautiful ball gowns at the drop of a hat - but even those prove to be too much for my meager powers, dissolving too soon to the rags they came from. Just one more evidence of my constant failure.
And now Emmaleigh is gone.
I need to get away. I can't stand this pain, this dejection, this utter failure - the reminder that if I had been something more, I could have helped in some way. I will leave and never look back. My toes itch with the need to run away.
But suddenly a miniature hand slips into mine. Ellie. As much as I want to, I can't leave her. Emmaleigh trusted me to care for her daughter, and in this I cannot fail. I will not. Instead of running, I know that I must stay here, facing the reminder of my failure every day, doing all that I can to somehow make it up to my best friend. Ellie will learn everything her mother would have taught her.
Except for magic.