Stories are in the mind, not the book

   "But I've only got so many story starters in this book!" I whine, turning to face my friend. She glares at me, pointing at her temple. I think about what she means, for several moments, then come to the conclusion that she wants me to use my imagination. She smiles when I point to my head, then my notebook. I jot down a few things, then head to my laptop, which sits upon my desk, and start hammering on the keys. "Must you be so loud?" she questions, glowering.
   "I guess not," I say as I type, lightening my touch upon the keys of my keyboard.

   Several minutes later, the printer whirls into motion. "You're done already?" my friend looks up from her book, startled by the sound.
   "Well, sort of. I have come up with a title, yet," I smile, reaching over to the printer to pull the paper that has my story on it. I hand the paper to my friend, beaming proudly while she reads it. She grins, "This is pretty good, Anna." Beth corrects a spelling error, and scribbles a title at the top of the page. I reach for the sheet, and return to my computer to revise the page. I smile at what she had inserted for a title. Freedom in the Field wasn't a bad name for the story I had just outlined with my words. I was going to write the whole story, of course, but this was all I would do today, as my friend and I had only one more hour before we were going swimming, then she would go home.