writers block....pls help!!

this ones for tavish especially! :)

I'm working on a short story called "paper roses" and i have run into a massive writers block. so I'm hoping i can get some help...any ideas, comments or criticisms is welcome. although remember this is still a draft...:) so go ahead!

{It’s been years since I even thought about my past. I suppose I have become so good at blocking it out that it has now become a second nature to me. There was a time when every time I saw a newspaper ad about auditions for some commercial or noticed a crowd of young girls gazing enviously at a picture of latest actress their hushed hopes clear, my heart would jump to my throat and I would be assailed by a flood of memories that would threaten to unhinge me. But now these things affect me no less than someone without all my baggage. Someone without all this shit to carry around.
My mother. Man did she come with her share of hang ups and baggage. As a young girl growing up your mother is in any case an alien from god-knows-where and then you add all the crap that comes with this mother of mine...yeah it’s not good. But maybe I should start at the beginning.

I grew up in a grimy 2 bed roomed apartment with 2 younger siblings and a mother who struggled to make ends meet. My mother was a woman with a belly-full of anger at the world. She had left home at the age of 17 to try and become a model. Her parents refused to support her and she spent the first four years listing to numerous people tell her that her look was too similar to what everybody else had, it wasn’t edgy enough, that she wasn’t special enough. Then she tried sleeping her way through to the top like so many other girls before her and this left her with nothing more than 3 illegitimate children and a reputation that left much to be desired. And all this before 25.

She never loved me. Even now as I look back on my turbulent childhood I remember things that I don’t think I will ever forget. How she would leave me with a long list of chores before she went out and my sister and brother were told nothing. How she bought them little gifts constantly and tells me that we couldn’t afford it whenever I asked for something. All these little things, the harsh looks, her lack of love that she displayed towards me, kept gnawing away at me until I was forced to develop a sharp exterior in order to survive. Until I discovered my way out of that toxic household when I was 17.

I knew I was an attractive girl. I had my fair share of whistles follow me as I walked down a road when I reached adolescence. My mother once in her rare fits of telling me about her past told me that all my looks had come from my father. Who he was and where I could find him was information that was bluntly denied to me. I used to spend hours in front of the mirror searching for him in the arch of my eye or the dimple’s of my smile. Anyway back to that crisp summer day that changed my life forever. It was at the local mall when I went to attend one of those competitions for models that a popular local magazine was holding. After much cajoling and pushing I agreed and joined the line of other young hopeful girls who would step into a room, be asked a few questions, had a picture taken and then go back home to wait for the phone call which could make or break them.

It was a long wait and it was almost two hours later when I finally was called in by a glamorous looking brunette with long red-lacquered nails, in a form-fitting suit that simply screamed designer label. I stepped into the brightly lit room and faced the three people who smiled at me with practiced smiles. One was the brunette who had ushered me in, the second was a scruffily dressed man- obviously the photographer but it was the third man who caught my eye. He was extremely good-looking, with a well-polished business man’s air about him even in his relatively casual outfit of blue jeans and white shirt. But that wasn’t what caught my eye. There was something intensely familiar about him. Like I knew his face, as well as I knew my own.

After a moment of silence the brunette spoke in a clear self-assured voice.

“Hi there. What’s your name?”

I smiled cheekily,

“Jasmine,” I replied “what’s yours?”

This earned me some laughter which I took as a good sign. The brunette then introduced herself and the two men to me. Her name was Rose and she held some important sounding post in a publishing company which was sponsoring the competition. The scruffily dressed man was a photographer named Joe and the third guy was named Jeff, and he was the president of the top model agency in the city. Ice. This new information about him intrigued me further and the jagged pieces of the part of me that seemed to be missing began to creep slowly towards each other.

To cut a long story short I won the competition. What I had won was to be the cover girl of two of the magazines owned by the sponsoring publishing company; a two year contract with the Ice model agency and was now the new “face” of some cosmetics brand. My mother was less-than-thrilled about the win and had in fact called up the agency to inform them that I would not accept the victory. But after a long conversation in her room she consented with a resigned air as though she had no choice but to do so. She flatly refused to tell what, or who, had changed her mind.

Almost two weeks after “the” phone call I woke up early on a Saturday to attend my first photo shoot. I entered the studio 10 minutes before my scheduled time and was greeted by Rose. She let me to a spacious lounge-like room and told me to wait there for a few minutes. Now I have never really been one to listen so almost instantly after she left I exited the room and went down the corridor.

“I really don’t understand, shouldn’t you just tell her?”

The voices came from behind a slightly ajar door. I slunk closer to peer and listen. What I saw was an office-like room and Rose and Jeff stood facing each other. My heart jumped and I lent in to hear better.

“Rose you don’t understand” Jeff was now saying. “It’s not that easy it’s really complicated”

“You’re the girl’s father Jeff! Don’t you think she has a right to know?” (I need hardly add that my throat constricted at this point) “You’ve always told me how much you regret respecting her mother’s wishes? Or was that all just talk?’

“No of course not!” he answered, “It’s just do you think she’ll understand? Most likely she’ll hate me for abandoning her!”

“I think you’ve misjudged her, I think she deserves to know”

At this point}

*BANG* I'm stuck! non idea what should happen next, what she should do. although just keep in mind that i want Jasmine to be self-willed and stubborn but with a clear sense of direction and purpose. thanks a bunch guys! :)


Tavish said…
gOOd! i'm glad you're writing! but no one can write this for you! just think of how you would like it to end it and figure out how to get there!or you can even include another character!
Tavish said…
I used to spend hours in front of the mirror searching for him in the arch of my eye or the dimple’s of my smile

i like that line! really nice!
Sharanya said…
aw thanx thats my favorite line actually! :) hmm well i want her entire life to fall apart by the end...maybe a love interest who breaks her heart?
shali said…
its really reallt good shara! but like tavish said noone else can write it for you..its your story!:) i know you already know what you want the story to become..just figure out how to get there! it'll come don't worry! :)
Sharanya said…
thanx darling :) yeahh i hope so i actually really like how its gone so far! :) xx

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