If you have noticed I have unfortunately deleted one of my stories. It was the first one. I was reading it the other day and decided that it wasn't up to my personal writing standards, and have taken it down. I will not, however, give up on Peter Pan fanfics. So I MADE YOU ALL A PRESENT! A NEW PETER PAN FANFICTION! YAY! So without further ado, here is my disclaimer:
Livvy: SMEE! DO I OWN PETER PINAPPLE, CAPTAIN CODFISH, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS?
Smee: Well, miss, I'm not so sure about the people you just named, but you don't own Peter Pan or Captain.
Livvy: I hate you, Smee! Now roll the chapter!
NOW I PRESENT TO YOU…. The Fantastical Tale of Peter Pineapple and Captain Codfish
Chapter One: Meet The Heroine
Robyn Jackson drove home angrily, switching the radio stations impatiently from one to the next, most of the time only getting static, except on the boring talk shows that involved politics or the other assorted topics that she didn't care to hear after a stressful day at work and school. Especially since all she heard for the entire day was about politics.
She was a Political Science major, and a poor one at that, which was painfully obvious when one would observe her last report card, which she received that very day. She had three C's, two D's, and one F. F! How could she, once proud, high flying high school student, stoop to such a grade? Every time she closed her eyes, that was all she saw. F. F. F. And in her writing class, of all things!
When she signed up for creative writing, she assumed it would be her easy A class that would boost her GPA and allow her more time to focus on the more important things. Things like calculus and her political science class.
Of course, she was wrong. Completely, totally, and devastatingly wrong. For one, she was never that great at writing. Sure, she was decent, and could easily write a good research essay. But coming up with her own work, her own story? Needless to say, it was harder than it looked. Much harder.
And the fact that she wasn't up to par in that subject was pointed out numerous times by her teacher Mr. Davenport. She tried, though, she really did! She went to study sessions and looked up advice and study columns online. None of it helped. It wasn't her technique, she discovered, however. It was her inspiration.
"Your writing is to plain. No creativity! No inspiration!" Mr. Davenport had said over and over again through the year. But no matter how she tried, no inspiration came. She traveled. She read other stories. She read up on foreign mythology, Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and even Norse!
It wasn't that she wasn't interesting, (or at least she didn't think so), but rather she focused on other things. She could write music, play all sorts of instruments, draw and paint…but not create her own story. Apparently she wasn't interesting enough for that.
F. F. F. Failure. Failure. Failure.
Robyn angrily flipped the station once again.
"BABY! BABY! BABY! OH!" blared in her ears, and she struggled furiously to shut off the radio before she became deaf due to terrible music.
Muttering to herself as she pulled into her parking spot, she threw open the door to her old, beaten up Camry and trudged up the snow-ridden steps to her old, twentieth century apartment, located in the middle of London. It was old and run down, but she had gotten it for a steal because of that.
Unbeknownst to her, however, there was a figure staring out at her from the front window as she tried again and again to shove the old key into the lock, which was slippery and frozen.
"Damn it!" she screamed at the world as she tried for the fourth time to now avail. "Damn the lock! Damn Mr. Davenport! Damn creative writing! Damn the WORLD!" she cried at the top of her lungs, while a small boy was hurrying by, eyes wide and mouth hanging open at her language. Shoving the key in one last time, it clicked into place and Robyn huffed a sigh a relief that froze in the cold winter air.
Pushing her way into the old house, she was hit with a wave of heat and sighed once more, removing her old coat, scarf, hat, and boots. As she made her way into the kitchen area, she didn't notice the small movements of someone in the parlor area as they slid up the old creaking stairs. And she was blissfully unaware as the figure snuck into her room as she ate her ramen noodles.
This proved a problem, for when she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, which was the old nursery, she assumed, not to mention her favorite room in the house, and strolled into the room, she was taken by surprise.
A large, burly man covered from head to toe in menacing tattoos, wearing nothing but trousers (a rarity during the Winter in London, or even in the Summer, for that matter) ambushed her rather brutishly, knocking her in the head and covering her mouth before she even had the time to scream.
The last thing she remembered before slipping into a state of unconsciousness was the rough smashing of the windows, and the noises and sounds of what seemed to her very much like those that would be found on a ship.
There you have it! Chapter numero uno! R&R people, and there WILL BE MORE! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Ta ta, lovelies!
Livvy