Taylor Everling: 603

Okay, well I’m doing this thing. I like to call it, “dispassionating.” Basically, a few weeks before I begin a huge massive story project like the one I’m about to embark upon, I write about nothing interesting. My characters have no zing. My plots have no sympathetic qualities, and any storyline that does hold promise is cut off before I can get sucked into it. That way I have no passion for writing anything. Until…

I allow my writing brain to wrap its little self around the character whose mind, heart and soul, I shall inhabit for the next thirty-one days. That probably sounds a bit creepy. It is a bit creepy. But I like to step into my character’s shoes and walk around for a few days before I begin to sculpt her destiny. Therefore my next few blog posts should be fairly random and hopeless. Don’t get attached to the characters because they’ll probably all die. Or I may be super random and post all my college application essays on here just for fun. Essentially, my brain is dead, I have no motivation, my lack of social life gives me zero inspiration, and I have no clue how my poor novel is even going to pan out. That being said… wait, did I just use the cliché “pan out” expression? What am I becoming? Oh dear me…. K well as I was saying. This novel is off to an even worse start than my last one, if that’s possible, and what’s worse I am bound the confines of it being my semester project for civics. Which means that I can’t do an emergency evacuation of this plot (again, like last time) if I need to. Which means I’ll actually have to commit to something for once. Which means November is probably going to be an even tougher month. Oh joy. I just love senior year. Oh wait, no I don’t.

Sigh. Thank goodness for writing. Someday I’m gonna write a bestseller, make a million dollars, and buy my daddy a boat and a house on Lake Martin.

Just keep telling yourself that, Laura. Just keep telling yourself that.

So here we go. Her name is Taylor Everling. She’s nineteen years old, has freckles, hazel eyes and redish brown hair, and she’s about to become my life for the next month. Let’s make this good, Taylor. You and me. We got this.

Time to write ourselves a novel, or in your case, an existence. You ready to live? I’m just going to take a moment here and apologize for what I’m about to do to you. You’re going to have to make some really bad choices, feel regret, learn to cope, make another huge enormous decision and then get on with the rest of your life.

So let’s go. Let’s write. I’m not by any means close to being half-way ready, but I’ll have to be. And I’m excited. It is a chance to escape being me for a month and be you instead.

Being Taylor Everling might just be a lot more interesting than being Laura Stewart. After all, you have a million problems that someone might want to read about. All I have is the intrinsic typicality of a high school senior who does what is expected of her and never has any adventures for the books. You’re my ticket, Taylor. And together we’re going to make a story that might just change someone’s mind someday. Even if it is just one person, one reader, one mind, one life that is touched through our endeavors, it will be worth it.