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ZACHARIAH SPINDLER
I Wrote A Book
I wrote a book.
A tight storyline that hits all the major plot points straight on the head.
A compelling protagonist who is easily relatable and carries a lot of emotional depth.
The name of the narrator is Leonard, though it never comes up in the book.
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Then the narrator says, It all started with the onset of Neds fifth grade year at school."
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It doesnt take long before the narration turns into first person, and we forget that the story
unfolding before us isnt actually happening.
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And though we lose ourselves in this fictional world, it is very important to never forget that
youre just a person sitting in a chair reading words from a page.
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Because no matter how eloquently written and masterfully crafted the words are, they are still just
words on a page.
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The ideas and viewpoints they express, however, are something more.
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Theyre making us all present in front of the class! Ned will say with dread.
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And Neds mother, Karen, will respond something like, Whats so bad about that?"
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Ned will moan and groan until the dogs come home.
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She probably has personal anecdotes of her own that shell tell Ned about at opportune
moments.
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And Neds father will do his best to calm the nerves of his son as well.
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I bet the boy and his dad will find themselves, at some point, playing catch in the backyard.
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Youre gonna do fine, Vince, the dad, will say sometime just before throwing the ball.
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And Ned will voice a quiet statement, essentially acknowledging that he heard his father but still
isnt quite sure.
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Hes also starting the tenor saxophone his band teacher thought hed make a good candidate
for the instrument.
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Also, there were way too many kids in the band playing alto.
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Point in case, something will always take up Neds focus and time.
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Other kids in Neds class start to bring in big poster boards with dioramas and pieces for models
that will be shared with the class on Friday.
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Wednesday.
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Thursday.
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Karate lessons.
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Now is when the story snaps out of first person and the narrator describes the moment Ned
wakes up Friday A.M. with great detail.
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His eyes open with the suddenness of a hungry dog ravaging its just filled bowl.
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Rushing thoughts, I bet, cloud his judgement as he jumps out of bed and scrambles to find a
pencil and paper.
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"If theyre so good, why didnt they make sure Ned was ready for the presentation? the reader
will question.
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In this case, they simply forgot that the presentation was this particular week.
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They work and they keep the house and they care for their three kids.
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So Ned will go to school with nothing but a few scribbles of preparation for his presentation.
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The class genius, Mark, goes first and his presentation is phenomenal but also twenty minutes
long.
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Sure enough, only half the class gives their presentation before its time for P.E. and a switch in
the days focus of study.
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Karen will realize that today is presentation day around lunchtime and immediately ask Ned
about it when he gets home.
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I cant believe I forgot today was your big presentation, would be something shed say.
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Smooth old Ned, in his fifth grade way, might say, good."
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And that would be that, amongst remarks and comments meant to reaffirm the messages the
parents had sent weeks ago now, about how it would all be fine and etc.
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And Ned, in his newfound hubris and naivety, surely, surely, is about to waste away the
weekend.
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Lovely Saturday.
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Sunday brunch.
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Football on TV.
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Sleepy Ned.
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Here, I bet, the narrator breaks from first person again and quickly throws in elaborate detail on
Neds second terror-filled morning in less than a weeks time.
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Most definitely, as is the way with books, the ending feels rushed and out of place and
unfulfilling.
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We cut to class and, I bet, the teacher says something like, Ned, why dont you step on up and
show us what youve been working on."
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Slowly, with the weight of a thousand fifth-grade lifetimes worth of baggage in each step, Ned
will make his way to the front, before taking a huge gulp and turning to face the class.
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I bet Ned has a rush of brilliance and inspiration in the moment and goes off on a masterfullycrafted bout of creative genius, leaving the class, and teacher, no less, in shock and awe.
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No Powerpoint.
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