No, Wait, That's Not The Title! Change That Back Now!

Hi, I’m Lucy.

No, I’m not. Wait a minute. I need a better pen name. Let me think. How about Daisy? I like that. Write it! Write it now!

Alright, I’m back now. I’m Daisy. I’m thirteen years old.

Sorry, she meant to write fourteen. Can’t you even get the storyline straight? I’m fourteen. And no, I don’t live in Zurich. I am not Swiss! Stop that! Stop that! That’s a lie! Delete it, now!

Thank you. I am fourteen and I live in Maine. I don’t live in Switzerland, unlike what some people think (glare). If you object to that, write it correctly.

Good. So, as I was saying, I am fourteen and live in Maine. Can’t believe that’s as far as we’ve gotten in so many paragraphs.

I have five four three ONE dog. I also have- WHAT NO I DO NOT HAVE FIFTEEN CATS!!! If you won’t type this correctly, I will take it from you and write it myself! It’s a biography, stupid! You have to tell the truth, or at least a version of the truth. I’ll just tell you what to put.

Wait, what? Stop being so annoying and confusing. No, I won’t have fifteen cats in my lifetime. How do you even know that? Tell about that time when (whisper whisper whisper).

Well, it all started on a Monday at school. No, wait, it was Tuesday. Wait, don’t type that! Stop it! Stop it! Don’t type that!

Okay. Sorry. It was a Thursday at school and I was walking to my classes. Math.

No, it was French. No, Latin! Stop getting so mixed up!

Right, Latin. Sorry. So, I was heading to Latin class when I was stopped by three of the biggest, meanest boys in the school.

They’re not so bad! Write it! Now!

Okay. They said they wanted to talk to me. A bit nervous (I was NOT), I went with them. They brought me to the principal’s office no, that’s a different story. Please. At least TRY.

They took me to a classroom I had never been in before.

(No, change that part. I’ve been in every classroom in the school.)

They brought me to a classroom I had only been in once twice. It was dark until the smallest one turned on the lights.

“Hello,” said the largest one.

“We,” said the middle one.

“Have,” added the small one.

“Wanted,” insisted the big one.

“To,” said the medium one.

“Talk.”

“To.”

“You.”

No, that wasn’t how it was. It flowed. Just add quotation marks in between the words.

“Hello.” “We.” “Have.” “Wanted.” “To.” “Talk.” “To.” You.”

So, I asked them, very politely, “Why can’t one of you talk to me and the others be quiet?”

“Because.” “Then.” “It.” “Wouldn’t.” “Be.” “Fair.”

Oh, shoot, never mind. I hate this story. Let’s be done already.

No, you have to if I say you do. Stop writing! Stop that!

So, the boys continued. “Come.” “With.” “Us.”

“No,” I said.

You can’t write from first person! You aren’t me! And you need to write with more… feeling! If you are going to write from my POV, is all. I would write it for you, but I think fourteen widely differing accounts of the story, all with me as the author, might be confusing.

“But.” “You.” “Must.” “Come.” “With.” “Us.”

“I don’t have to,” I insisted. Make that Daisy yelled, not insisted. That’s way too calm.

“I don’t have to,” Daisy yelled.

“Why.” “Not?” The boys asked.

“Because I don’t want to, ha ha ha!” I yelled at them.

No, silly, it’s Daisy screamed, not I yelled. You used yelled already.

“Because I don’t want to, ha ha ha!” Daisy screamed at them.

Hmm, no, that doesn’t sound so good. I prefer less chaos.

“Because I don’t want to and that doesn’t sound safe,” Daisy replied heroically.

“But.” “We.” “Think.” “That.” “You.” “Need.” Type faster!

“But.” “We.” “Think.” “That.” “You.” “Need.” “To!”

And so the wondrous Daisy answered, “No, thank you!” And then she strutted out of the room.

No, you can’t write that! That makes no sense! Stop it! I am not wondrous! I am splendorous! Anything but wondrous!

Well… if you insist. And since it’ll be in the newspaper.

And then the wondrous Daisy responded, with all the energy she could muster, “No thank you!”

What does that even mean? Oh, give me the computer here!

Once, Daisy, that is, me, was going to Latin class. She was there and then she met these three annoying guys in the hallway. There was a tall guy, a medium guy, and a short one. And they brought her to a room that she had visited twice before. And Daisy, or, as I prefer to call her, me- had to have a long conversation- you know what, I give up! I’ll just let them type it. They can each type one word.

Wait, no that was not an opportunity for you to take the computer back! I am not a wimpy princess or a thick-headed hero! Stop that! I don’t think you can possibly capture my personality on the page as well as those three boys or me, myself, and I can. But since you want to, you type it out, in your version, and I will correct it.

One day, Daisy was walking to Latin class at her school in Maine. She whistled a merry tune (of course I didn’t!) as she strolled through the hallways, oblivious (I pay attention! Stop with the insults!) to her loud and rowdy classmates galloping to and fro. Daisy marched serenely (I think you meant quickly? And whilst arguing with three other people?) toward her class, a bag slung across her shoulder (Backpacks rule. I will never wear a bag in school. NEVER.) Compared to her obnoxious classmates, Daisy was a queen- a silent queen, completely lost in her mind yet clearing a way with her mighty presence as she moved. (Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? That is so not true! I cannot believe you wrote that.) She passed classroom after classroom. People looked up in awe (maybe you mean that they were startled?) as she passed. Her hair flowed regally (messily) around her shoulders, like a golden crown (I have brown hair. DUH.) A small boy bowed in wonder (No, he definitely smirked, I remember that part.) as she walked by him, silent and beautiful.

And then Daisy was stopped, pulled cruelly (actually, they just beckoned me into the room. It wasn’t cruel or mean or anything) from the adoring eyes of her fans (From the midst of my extremely enlightening argument, you mean.) by three boys- one big, one bigger, one the biggest. After some polite bows (You mean angry smirks, combined with a few annoying giggles, then a couple glares), they gestured for her to follow them into a room that Daisy had only visited a few times- after all, she had visited all the rooms in the school, but she clearly didn’t have time to spend in each one.

When the boys spoke, Daisy was startled (I was not.). They communicated in a monotone, like robots (no, like teenagers.), their faces never changing expression. Each word was said by a different one and then the pattern repeated so that it was fair and none of them would get to talk more than the other two. (At least that part is correct.)

Daisy listened, her beautiful (you mean dirty brown colored) eyes widening with each word that the strange boys said (they must have been really wide, then). They told her that she was in great danger, their eyes solemn and their faces sad. Poor Daisy had no option but to believe them. (That is so exaggerated. I cannot believe you wrote that.)

Her parents and siblings had been taken captive and she was the only one left, with a simple but dangerous choice- to save them or be killed by her fans. (Not the so-called ‘fans’, I said the teachers!)

So the brave (weak), wonderful (cowardly) and amazing (odd) Daisy went into hiding. After three months, with a loyal army, she stormed the enemy’s castle. To thank the boys who had warned her, she gave them a cash reward. They all lived happily ever after. I hate that ending. That is an awful story. You will never write it again. Goodbye.

(Door slam.)