Day 29: Was there supposed to be a novel?

So part of the whole starting a blog thing like Bagchi (http://slashtagpolo.wordpress.com/) was to participate in the NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month challenge, writing 175 pages in 30 days. I don’t think I’m going to meet the page quota- and November is officially over as of today- but it occurs to me that I should at least write the first page of my never to be written, finished or published novel. As of right now, I’m pretending that everything on this blog is copyrighted so if Stephen King publishes this shit, I’m gonna be pissed.

In stories like this, a group of plucky mismatched teens bands together to defeat the evil, nefarious, cheating, lying, possibly alien-infested (think The Faculty) adults. The stereotypical jock shows that not only does he have brawn but a few brains as well. The leather-clad, clove-smoking bad boy or girl demonstrates either a.) a deeply intellectual/ sensitive side  and/or  b.) that his or her knowledge of hotwiring cars, picking locks and brewing meth can all come in handy in the fight against the adults who have taken their advanced age and authority way too seriously. The nerd will emerge as not only smart but brave (a mirrored metamorphosis of the jock) and gain some manner of sexual prowess or at least attractiveness. The Princess Bitch will use her mean girl powers of sarcasm, money connections and general toughness under beauty to infiltrate and manipulate as needed.

During the course of things, there will be at least one oddball coupling. The jock will discover the hidden, tender attractiveness of the bad girl. She’s not so bad after all. And maybe the nerd will get laid by the Princess Bitch because she’s not so bad after all either. If the storyline is trying to be extra meaningful, one of them will die at a crucial moment, causing the remaining group members to really question their purpose and ability to succeed in their mission against the zombified/werewolfish/vampiric adults overtaking everything. They will, however, rally. At the very least, they will emerge battered, bruised, forever changed but triumphant.

Consider if The Breakfast Club had gotten past lipstick tricks and Barry Manilow’s wardrobe and decided to fight evil. Give Molly Ringwald a flamethrower and tuck a sawed-off shotgun underneath Judd Nelson’s trench coat. Oh, the badassery. Oh, the magical ability and coordination of a group of the most temperamental, judgmental, insecure creatures in the universe to suddenly bond together into an inseparable force to defeat the drug-running, prostitute ring conspiring adults. Suddenly, despite never having interacted before, they’ve all mind melded on a level beyond Spock or…twinkly gasp…Edward and Bella and Jacob’s entire wolf pack. They share inside jokes and knowing looks that signal just the right moment to pull the trigger, press the button, drop the net that conquers the adults that spoke to them harshly and put them inside tiny metaphorical boxes.

In stories like this the band of plucky teens wins.

But in stories like this one they are going to bleed.

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