I'm One Of The Lucky Writers: Plots

I'll Take You To Mickey D's," Said Sean. "i'll Buy You A Hamburger." Annie Was Not Thrilled. Sean's Offer Did Not Compare To Offers Made In Other Centuries. "and Fries," Sean Said. "and A Vanilla Milkshake." Annie Remained Unthrilled. "okay, Okay. You Can Have A Big Mac." Romance In My Century, She Thought, Is Pitiful.

I Wonder Why We Always Deny Love. I Remember In Middle School, If You Were Accused Of The Crime Of Loving, You Screamed Denials Constantly And Stopped Ever Even Looking At The Boy You Were Accused Of Liking. The Boys Could Destroy Each Other By Yodeling, "an-drew Lo-oves Jen-nie," And Both Andrew And Jennie Would Flinch And Blush. Love Is This Great Thing That Most Songs And Books And Poems And Lives Are All About. So The Minute We Actually Think There Might Be Love Around, We Start Laughing And Pretending And Hiding From It.

I'm One Of The Lucky Writers: Plots Come Easily To Me

Lying On The Front Passenger Seat, As If It Didn't Matter, Was Rose's Diary. It Mattered.

She Had Gradually Changed Her Name. "jane" Was Too Dull. Last Year, She'd Added A "y", Becoming Jayne, Which Had More Personality.