What do you think of this as a beginning for another story? I would use this to kind of...introduce it, and then have a different story next. I want to use it, but I need crits. It's short, so please read!
"Write about what you know, Janey."
My mom never understood my yearning for the unnatural, for the unknown, for the distant lands where magic was real and happiness could be attained through princesses and princes, talking birds and fairy godmothers and true love conquered every obstacle on the path to 'happily ever after.'
She never understood the longing I have inside me for this miraculous, impractical world that I created with a keyboard and computer screen, so she told me:
"Write about what you know."
I never really listened to her. She told me to try writing a story about my own life, and I laughed. My life in a small town, where the Rodeo event in the small, dusty fairgrounds is the excitement of the year. Where you see people you know in every store. Where...where nothing ever happens. So I ignored her and I kept writing my stories of fantasy, romance and adventure.
I realize now that I should, perhaps, have listened to her. I shouldn't have filled my head with fairies and magic. But it's too late now, I think. I try to start a story of reality and it turns into a story of time-travel, or magical objects with the ability to transport you to different worlds. So I have decided, mom: I have decided that instead of writing the kind of tale you have always wanted me to write, I will write a story for you. I will dedicate it to you, and I will do my best to remember you as I write. And then, when you read this story later, if you ever do, you will be happy in knowing that I tried. Knowing that I thought of you.
Resolution made, I go down into my basement where the small black heater does it's very best to heat the cold, tile-floored room. I sit at the ancient computer that struggles to survive, with a computer monitor the size of a desk. I plug my small flash drive into the little hole where the wonders of modern technology sends a message to my computer. Soon, my folder flashes up. I click on one of the squares, an old story I don't want to finish. I delete the old words and stare at the cursor that blinks on and off on the now-empty, white screen. Then I place my hands deliberately on the keyboard and begin to type.
