As a girl, Jenny carried a blank book everywhere, eager to capture the world on the page. She had written story after story in elementary school – and in the various other writing classes she’d taken. Sometimes it seemed as if the words flowed, filling pages of their own accord. She longed for that inspiration again, longed to feel the need to stop everything that she was doing and write until all her thoughts and ideas spilled onto the page.
Her favorite books were about authors whose characters just couldn’t help being who they were. Jenny’s characters had form and personality in the back of her mind, but she didn’t know how to make them live outside of her own imagination.
A few times she had awoken with an idea for a story, the opening sentence completely formed, the character named and alive. But as soon as real life happened, she shoved her characters aside and ignored them. Since they didn’t pester her to continue their lives, she gave up caring about them.