Sarah Javerson - A Fanfiction by W. L. Smith - A Novel by L. L. Gilmore
A/N: It's been a long time sinceI wrote fanfiction, and never have I attempted a Gilmore Girls fic. So, well, here's hoping.
Prologue - Rory's PoV
The idea struck me that summer I stayed at my grandparent's house, when I was taking a break from Yale. Once this little idea started, it wouldn't leave me alone. It was, of course, a solution. It was a brilliant solution. It was a risky and brilliant solution, and it would take a heck of a lot of work to pull it off. But there it was, and in the end, I knew I had to give it a shot. After all, if I couldn't be a journalist, that didn't mean I couldn't still write, did it?
It took me only a few hours (and not a single list), with a pen and stack of notebook paper in front of me to realize, I had no idea what I was doing. I had no plot. I had no characters. I had no title, no research, no expirience. I hadn't even settled on a genre. I had the talent, sure. But this was not my area of expertise, and I was feeling a lttle (okay, maybe a lot) lost.
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I just lacked the creativity. Maybe I could write only as long as the topic and plot were provided. Maybe I was doomed to be one of the people on that wrote about Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction all day long and had in their profile, "I went to Yale for two years, and I'm currently single. Send me a message on ICQ!" Maybe I really should just be an assistant, where at least I could be near the workings of a real-life paper.
It was my mom that got me out of my slump. This was, in the tiniest way, a bit ironic, considering that if I hadn't gone against her words I wouldn't even have time to try and write a novel in the first place. And for once, she didn't even say anything to me. I was just thinking about her. She was, after all, my best friend. And it occured to me, my mom never would have given up in a situation like this. I mean, she got pregnant at sixteen, and went out and got a job. She raised me all by herself, and let's fasce it, at that age, I wasn't exactly the angel everyone thought I was.
I wanted to be like her, like Mom. Not the whole getting-pregnant-at-sixteen thing, per say (which would have been a good bit impossible anyway), but the not-giving-up thing had its appeals.
I was going to do it. I was going to write a book.
Sarah Javerson - L. L. Gilmore
Prologue
"Reading again, Javerson?" Terrance asked spitefully. Sarah didn't choose to acknowledge the boy. She never did. Her pale, and yet oddly, surreally pretty face continued hiding behind a large, leatherbound old tome. Old books were her favorite.
"C'mon, Javerson. Talk. You never talk to me anymore." Terrance tried again, just as coldly as before. He snatched the book right from her hands. This time, Sarah caught the bait.
"I never talked to you in the first place, Terrance!" She said stuffily, leaping at the book as her foe held it stationary, just out of reach. He moved it before her tiny, delicate fingers could close upon it.
"Oh!" she gasped, as she tripped to the ground, shredding her knee on a conviniently placed gravel. 'The whole world is against me today,' she sighed. Terrance showed no sign of concern. He truly, truly could not stand this girl.
"Give it back, Terrance, please." Sarah pleaded, limping back up to his side. He frowned, sensing no more fun would come from this game, and htrew the book as hard as he could at the dried mud. Sarah watched in horror as dust flew from the spot where it collided with the earth. Terrance, just to be rude, jumped on the defensless book, and hopped up and down on it's spine once more. He left.
"Oh, great." Sarah sighed, recovering the book, and then inspecting her knee. She watched Terrance's retreating figure; his hands swinging confidently at his side, his brown-blonde hair ruffled by a nonexistent breeze. He was perfect. But he would never see her. He joined his friends. Sarah could only recognize one other person besides Terrance in the group: his girlfirend Autumn. Oh, how she wished she could be that girl, the one he daily pressed against the lockers to kiss; the one he was nice to, instead of the lonely introvert he hated. Oh, how she wished these and many other things. But alas, today, like so many other days, her wish would not be granted.