I’ve finally made my decision. It was a hard one to make, mind you, but it had to be made. I just couldn’t stand the idea that a piece as great as this would just be sitting in the dumps without the chance to be published and read. The sentimentalist in me shouted and I heard.
Dear diary, today, I began to edit that manuscript. But for some reason, I felt empty editing it. I know that this manuscript belongs to nobody. The owner threw this manuscript away because he/she didn’t want it. They probably though this story was stupid. If so, then he/she is stupid and blind. This is perhaps one of the greatest story ever written about dragons and demons. I don’t think I need to tell you anymore about the story. You know it right? I’ve written about it before in previous entries.
Perhaps whoever wrote this story was old. That was why they thought this story was bad. Old people really do have bad taste. Did you know that old people don’t find pleasure from new music? Yeah, that’s right. I read it in a science article. I wonder if that’s the reason they don’t like Shrillex. But then again, I don’t like Shrillex.
Well, anyways, I’d just like to inform you of my progress with the manuscript. Up until now, I have fixed all the grammar erorrs and beautified a couple of odd sentences. Right now, the manuscript is perfect. If I were to go to an agent right now, I know that without a doubt this will be picked.
But then again, it isn’t about beauty of the manscript at all, isn’t it? Who cares if a manuscript is beautiful when it isn’t even yours? I need to make this mine. To make it personal. To change it radically so that even the original writer wouldn’t recognize this. All they would know is that this is similar to a manuscript that he/she once threw away.
For that, I have launced Operation Rallion, a portmanteu of Radical and Rebellion. So, this is the plan of action. Change the manuscript, as easy as that. That is the mission. To achieve that, I need to perform certain changes that will totally throw off attention to the original manuscript.
First off all, I need to type the manuscript into a new word document. Then I will throw away, nay, burn this manuscript so that no one can trace it back to me. Then, at the Word document, I would use a font different from the original so that even the owner won’t recognize it at first glance. Then, I change at least 10 sentences every chapter. At least. That way, it would read totally different from the original. By the time I’m done with Operation Rallion, this would be a whole new manuscript.
But you’re probably wondering why I would go so far to edit a manuscript that the original owner doesn’t even want, right? Well, lets just say that I have a certain guilt to this manuscript. The less guilt I have, the better. I didn’t steal it so my guilt should be almost nonexistant. But somehow, I do feel it.
Perhaps this is similar to winners’ guilt. You know, when someone wins a lottery he/she shares the win because she feels guilty winning it. To me, finding this manuscript is similar to winning a lottery, albeit a lottery that I have to work a little more to claim the price.
Even after totally changing this manuscript, I still feel a little guilty. Will this guilt ever go away?
Hey, diary. Have I told you about how my Murphy’s Law incident began? Why I wanted to write so badly? Why the struggle between publishing or just giving the lost manuscript back to its original owner became a struggle for life or death?
Well, before I start on that, please know that Samantha liked my story. Well, she liked an anonymous person’s story. But still, I had the manuscript with me. When I though that Samantha’s superpower (fast reader) could not get better, it did. She is like Ichigo Kurosaki, or Monkey D. Luffy, or Naruto, or many other animanga charcters I have seen. She needs only a short time to improve her powers and when I thought she was the greatest, she did even greater. But to be fair, it had been years since I last seen her.
Animanga charcters, however, are applicable to the Pygamalion Effect (don’t tell me you forgot already) but what about Samantha? Who would force her to be greater than her greatest? Her parents, teachers? Whoever it was, let me tell you that I am sure it involves child abuse because how the the hell someone great can be greater I don’t know. You know what she did, that shocked me so much? She read the manuscript, about 300 pages in just half an hour. You got that right. She even commented on it and told me what could be fixed. She sure is an amazing gal!
But moving on, did you know that my mom is sick of this town? Yes, the town that I’m living in. Apparently, she’s moving away to the countryside. Well, I for one is happy for her. In any situation, I would cheer for her and dad and tell them that this would be the greatest chance that they will have to strengthen their already strong relationship. Heh, talk about Pygamalion Effect there.
I am freaking out. I am totally freaking out. Have you ever heard of the Writers’ Principle, diary? Me neither, and I bet you that there isn’t one. But what is that sole rule, that sole principle that all writers follow? Still don’t have the answer? Never plagiarise. That is the most important rule of all and to writers, this is more like a principle rather than a rule. You plagiarise and you lose credibility as a writer. But now, I am facing a dilemma.
I found a manuscript. Yeah, you heard me. I. Found. A. Manuscript. A thick one at that. 600 pages long. Nicely written with only first draft errors on it. The story on the manuscript was that of a dragon fighting a demon from the Underworld. Wow, creepy stuff, right? You’d imagine a dragon fighting a human but a demon, wow! Let me tell you how I found this manuscript.
A week after my first entry to this diary, I was walking around in a neighborhood next to mine. To make a long story short, I ran into a trashcan. I know, right? How can someone run into a trashcan? So, I was pissed at how careless I was and stood up, ready to clean myself when I saw it. There was a paper, a stack of papers on the floor next to the trashcan. Now, a reminder, I am not a picker, I am not a hoarder or anything similar. I was just curious.
My hand felt heavy. I rubbed them quickly, getting rid of the excruciating pain that lasted for a minute. I rubbed my forehead, sweat following my hand. The sweat glistened off the hand and trickled down. I heard a small patter on the floor. That was my sweat falling. I never knew I had such good hearing.
My eyes were red. I had been staring into my iPad for five hours straight, looking for inspiration. Where is inspiration!? I thought if I waited long enough it will come but none. No inspiration came to me.
That is why I am writing this diary. At least, if I am not figuring out a story, I can at least write. That’s something, right?
I sigh. Something… Huh! More like nothing. I never thought that writers’ block can be so frustrating. No wonder some died because of it. Anyways, for my new diary, I better introduce myself first. Isn’t that what most people do when they first write diaries?
So, my name is John Slater and I am a 26 year old unemployed economics college graduate who has no girlfriend and lives with his mother. That summed it up nicely. As you can see, I am a total loser. But I hope that’s not going to be for long. As soon as I can finish my novel, I can set up to be one of the most famous writers in the world. At least, that’s what I plan to do.
Thinking back, I have always liked writing. That’s why I was the best in my class. When it came to presentations and home works involving writing, I would be the best becaue that’s what I was good at. Writing. I probably picked up this knack of writing when I wanted to impress this girl when I was in fifth grade. She was a pretty one. Her name was Samantha.
Till this day, I still remember Samantha. Her face, her cheery personality and that brilliant smile. My knees shake every time she smiles. Her smile was the smile of an angel. My knees literally melt when she smiles. That was how great and warm her smile was.
Anyways, she liked to read, a lot. I remember her telling me she borrowed 30 books from the library and she read it all on one week. No kidding. And these were not just some Alice in Wonderland or Narnia books. These were thick books for adults. I still remember her showing me a Sidney Sheldon book she had read when we were in 7th grade. And in the 7th grade as well, she had already finished J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. I’m 26 right now and I still can’t read after Fellowship of the Rings.
From the day I fell on love with her, I vowed to be a writer. To be the best writer that is. I never did tell my feelings to Samantha though. I did let her read some of my choppy stories about adventures in times and that always made her laugh. Always. I wonder if she was laughing at the bad quality of writing, rather than the story. I’d never know though because when we moved to high school, she moved. Relocated. Dissapeared. I have such a high vocabulary because of her and she was gone.
I rued my decision of not disclosing my feeling to her. Not telling here I loved her. But what could I have done? Nothing, apparantly. I never got a whiff of her after that. I stopped writing after that. That is, until today. Today, I want to write again. This burning desire has been rekindled. You want to know why, diary? Well, you gotta wait because right now, I want to sleep. I can’t stand it anymore. My eyes are burning. Night.