I started the school year the way I start everything. An idealist. All my dreams in a row, my goals scheduled out.

Some have stuck. Some are starting to slide.

I had a goal to write and post a short story every week. It was hard, fun, and challenging while it lasted. But my writing time has been sucked up by my novel. My poor little weekly short stories have been neglected.

There’s a part of me that feels like a failure for not staying on top of my goals. I’m trying to remember that I am learning. I’m growing, making progress. I don’t have to be perfect.

So today, I decided to post something I wrote a long time ago. I introduce my first ever story.

 

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved hot air balloons. She wished she had one.”

“Are we there??”

 

“They went back to the hotel and went to bed.”

 

Like most of my first literary attempts, it was left unfinished. And horrible.