So, I’m doing this new low-key weekend thing where I re-post old posts. In this case, this an old, old post from, technically, the second run of this blog from 2013 to 2015. Back then, this was just a writing blog, a place where I posted some of my stories. The story this post talks about is one of those. It was written when I was in high school, so quite a long time ago! Still, I thought it would be fun to go all the way back to 2013 for the first of these posts. If you’re curious about the story itself, I’ve added links to each chapter.
First posted April 26, 2013
The Open Door blossomed while I was in my eleventh grade English Honors class. It was the beginning of the academic year and we already had an in-class essay to write. Over the summer, we’d had to select a couple of books from a list and write journals on them. A couple of weeks after school started, we were tasked with writing an essay, complete with important quotes, in 50 minutes on one of the books we had read. If I remember correctly, the book I chose was A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. I remember thinking it would be funny to write about literally saying farewell to arms since the book is set during WWI. Actually, on second thought, I think I actually wrote that into my essay.
We had cramped hands by the end of it, but we felt accomplished. That is, until the day we got them back. I’ll never forget our teacher complaining about the quotes we had chosen to characterize the book we had written on. I don’t know who did it, but someone must have quoted “He entered the room,” and off she went on a mini lecture about how that line could not be one of the most important lines of the book. It’s amazing, but I still remember this!
I was never a rebellious teenager (in fact, my mom called me “the abnormal one.”). I stressed out over assignments that may and may not have actually been due. I got up in the middle of the night to do an assignment I had forgotten about. My parents never had to tell me to do my homework; I always beat them to it. I never rebelled in the normal teenage way. No, I had discovered books before I knew what they were and had begun writing when I was eight. My rebellion came out in my writing.
So, when my eleventh grade English teacher said “He entered the room” could not possibly be an important quote, my mind started whirling and I wondered, what if it was the most important line? And The Open Door was born, a story where “She entered the room” was the most important sentence. Doing that was a lot harder than I had initially thought, but it was still so much fun to write!
I hope you enjoy this short story!
Up next: a dark fantasy short story. Stay tuned! That one was called Arachnia, I think. Feel free to check out the first part of that story here.