A Short Story
M y life is void of all purpose and meaning. I sit at my desk, wondering if the next story I write will sell. I have come to realize that people do not want me to write because they try to discourage me with their meaningless words. Or perhaps they do care but think if I do not write like they do, why bother? Meaningless friends they are. Job had friends like that. He had one calamity after another with no chance to catch his breath. He cursed the day he was born and wish for death . He did not realize it was because of his fear that it had to come to pass. His three friends also offered meaningless help and advice just as mine does. “Ruthie, your story lacks description. It won't sell.” “What? Not again ?” I cry. And why is it that readers rather I show them Paris then tell them about Paris? Must I bring Paris t o them? Why not use their imagination ? Are all readers lazy and have none? I am not lazy. I just have no energy. For 15 ye...