Chapter One

Tuesday, September 7, Intro to Creative Writing

Oh, she has GOT to be kidding. Describe a room? That is our first assignment? Describe a room? Does she have any idea how long I've been describing rooms creatively? I mean, I've described rooms in space --- for instance, in my Battlestar Galactica fan fic about Starbuck and Apollo finally Doing It.

You know what I can't believe? I can't believe she stuck me in Intro to Creative Writing. I should be in Intermediate at least. I mean, with my practice PSAT scores --- which, okay, were about as low as they could be in math, but were great in verbal --- I should have tested into it.

And okay, the SATs don't measure creativity (unless we're supposed to believe that those people grading the essay part really read them).

But my verbal score alone should prove that I'm capable of describing a room. Doesn't she know I've moved on from describing rooms --- and even from writing novels --- to writing whole screenplays?

Because Lilly is totally right, there's no other way I'm ever going to get a true representation of the story of my life onto the silver screen unless I write it myself. And Lilly directs it. I know it's going to be tricky finding financing and all, but J.P. said he'd help. And he knows tons of people in Hollywood. Just the other day he and his parents had dinner with Steven Spielberg's cousin.

Why can't Ms. Martinez see that by putting me in Intro to Creative Writing instead of Intermediate, where I belong, she is repressing my artistic growth? How is the blossom of my creativity ever going to be able to bloom if no one waters it?

Describe a room. Okay, here's a room for you, Ms. Martinez:

The four stone walls press narrowly against one another, glistening with moisture dripping from the low ceiling. The only light that filters in comes from the single tiny barred window near the ceiling. The only furnishings are a narrow cot with a thin mattress made of striped ticking, and a bucket. The purpose for the bucket is made obvious by the stench emanating from it. Is that what is attracting the rats that lurk in the shadowed corners, their pink noses quivering?