If I Wrote a Book

All my life I’ve wanted to write a book and get it published, and I’ve had brilliant ideas for the books as well- just that I could never find enough time to finish the book. And then there’s the fact that I don’t believe anyone is ever going to want to read anything I write.
If I was asked to write a list of some books I’ve thought of writing (I figured no one’s going to ask, so why not just ask myself) this is what I’d give them:

1. Fantastic Idiots and Where to Find Them. (I might give you an introduction to it, soon.)
2. A supervillain story, where the hero doesn’t get to win just because he has a heart. (I started to write this one a year back, never went back to it.) Even villains have hearts, and they’ve faced more disappointment and heartache than heroes have.
3. Self-Help for Depressed Souls: Things No One Ever Told You.
4. A Soulful Display of Grammatical Errors
5. You’re Never Alone: The World Farts With You
6. A heart touching book where the reader’s favorite character dies. (Yes, John Green, I’m inspired.) Somehow people always like sad books that involve death. For example: My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult, A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks, Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom, and all John Green books.

I guess that’s about it. As much as I wish I could write mystery novels, and thrillers- I can’t. I love reading them, sure, but I couldn’t write a mystery for a million dollars.
If I ever wrote a mystery/thriller, here’s what it’d look like:


Audrey sat on her porch with a book in her hand- “If Tomorrow Comes”, Sidney Sheldon- and headphones on to the beat of Kyoto, Skrillex.
It was her idea of a perfect Saturday night. The weather was rare, the trees swaying harshly to a strong wind, and then slow soft drizzle. Thunder flashed every now and then. A storm, but not.

The end of summer. And something else.

Something was moving. A cat maybe. A raccoon, perhaps.
She didn’t give it a second thought. Hardly anything scared her, anymore. She didn’t even look up from her book, not until she had to go and get a can of Mountain Dew from the fridge. Halfway through the way back, she noticed a shadow, of a person, peeping out from behind the porch door.
She almost laughed.
“Crap, forgot my sandwich.” she said, as she went back into the kitchen and picked out her favorite knife from the rack.

Stepping out of the kitchen, with Hardwell’s “Don’t Stop the Madness” blasting out of her headphones, her arm took a swing faster than imagination allows.
In seconds, the scene around the house had changed.
She walked out into the porch, and looked behind the door at the bleeding woman.

“I just cleaned this knife in the morning. Now you’ve got your intestines around it. You’ve even ruined the flooring.” She was angry now.

The bleeding woman started to speak. “I just-”

“Wanted to talk? Should’ve called.”

Audrey hated it when there was blood on the floor. Cleaning never appealed to her.
She searched the woman’s pockets for her cellphone.

“Call her. Tell her to use the phone next time- or she’ll be dirtying her own porch with her own blood.” She instructed her.
The bleeding woman was clearly seething, but she obliged. She didn’t have much of a choice. This woman was crazy.

“Donna, she-”
Audrey kicked her ear- smashing it and the phone, all at once.


The end of summer.

And something else.

I was laughing throughout the process of writing this. Come on, cliché much? Skrillex music, stormy weather, something was moving?
Writing thriller is fun, but I just can’t do it.
However, if you want to read a real thriller, here’s a short story for you that was based on a prompt by Grammar Ghoul Press, so beautifully interpreted that it won the second prize: Cut and Paste. The author has added two more parts to it, ever brilliant. I really suggest you read it.


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