Oh yeah, the FiestaLand story. By now, I’m supposed to have a plan for writing it, but I don’t. Just blank page after blank page, staring at me with their judgmental red and blue lines and an emptiness to be filled. I look up at the screen at Mrs. Parkman’s story. I guess I wasn’t paying much attention before, but now I see that she’s crossed out lots of words and replaced them with better ones. She even scribbled out a whole sentence. I like how she doesn’t care that it’s all sloppy. It reminds me of my secret poetry notebook.
