-I'll think of some drama, then put myself in someones shoes, build up a story behind it, then write about what could have happened and what I'd do if it had been me...
I lost my job
Cuts. I blame it on the cuts. Stupid government, can't they see that they're just ruining people's lives? There's never any use asking why, there's nothing I can do to change this, I'll just have to look for another job.
I've been trawling through the Internet looking at vacancies in every company cafeteria, school, bakery, cafe, restaurant and god knows where else for about a month now.
The TV has been off to compensate for the constant buzz of my laptop, I've been eating at my parents house for the past two weeks as I have no money to buy food and my only pair of designer shoes - Christian Louboutins - have been sold on eBay to pay my rent. I really am at the end of my tether.
Everything has just happened at the wrong time, my emergency savings went on my cars MOT, then my debit card was stolen and someone drew out £500 over two days - I only realised when the rent bounced - then suddenly I'm losing my job, company phone - a gorgeous Blackberry Curve - and this is just before I'm due to get the bonus that will save me.
I turn to the pile of newspapers that Mum saved for me and begin to circle anything vaguely appropriate, I also begin to understand that any job will have to do - I need the money.
I ring up a couple of waitressing vacancies and post off another twenty CV's then drive down to Mum's for dinner.
My family have been very supportive over the last month, but to be honest I think Mum is enjoying having me back home so she can control my life. I'm being fed. I must not moan, but every time over any meal it's 'So, what have you done today to get a job? They won't just appear on their own you know darling.' and then you have to talk her through every google search, every ringed vacancy, addressed envelope and phone call. By the end of the meal you're getting it in the neck for not doing enough, even though I'm only ever breaking from my strenuous job search to eat, sleep and wash.
What more can I do? My ambition has all dried up. Five years ago I left university with the dream of working as a chef for a Michelin starred restaurant, what do I get? A job working as cook at a Council office cafeteria. I told myself it was just for experience, just to get me started, to get my feet wet, and gradually I'd work my way up.
I got tired of coming home every night after dealing with moody cooks and customer complaints and searching through restaurant chef vacancies. I got an interview once, but I lost it to someone who won 'Masterchef', and they didn't seem impressed with my mediocre sandwiching skills.
As I reluctantly turned down my parents road I considered turning back and going home, I wanted to avoid the critics. But the grumble of my stomach reminded me how hungry I was and I carried on. One plus from not having enough money to buy food? I've lost about seven pounds.
Turning off the engine I noticed that the fuel gauge was in the red, which just put me in an even worse mood.
Dinner was the same as always, 'No Mum.' 'Yes Mum' 'No Mum, I do not want to train as a mechanic so I can work with Dad.'
Jenny, my tweenage, much younger sister wrapped me up a cupcake sprinkled with stars. She's only ten, bless her.
"I heard your tummy rumbling." She giggled. "I made it myself, from that cookbook you made for me for my birthday!" I thanked her, then begged Dad for twenty quid for fuel when Mum was out of earshot.
It was raining when I finally left, I'd done some mental calculations in my head and I figured if I moved out of the apartment, sold most of my stuff and moved back in with Mum and Dad, I'd be hell of a lot more comfortable. But the idea of having to admit I needed my parents at 26 scared the crap out of me. That would really be admitting defeat.
I pulled into the petrol station and filled up the car to the value of £15, that extra £5 would be the only good thing in my life, I looked over at a guy filling up a BMW, which looked comical next to my Astra.
He was about my age I guessed, well off, obviously, his black messy hair was everywhere and was long enough to cover most of his ears, he was tall, about 6ft, and you could see from his thin shirt that he worked out.
He caught me staring, and I flushed red and looked away quickly. I tried to focus on the car show room across the road, on a sign that read 'Strapped for cash? Don't really need your car? We value and guarantee to buy your car, you'll have the money paid into your account in three days! All paperwork sorted!' My eyes widened and I turned to look at my car, it was small, and pathetic and only a run around. All it was doing was carting me to and from Mum and Dads. I lived right near the shops. I could walk places. I could use the bus.
Suddenly everything pieced itself together, I saw the cupcake Jenny made, simplistic, beautiful, it had cheered me up. I saw the car, the money, my old cooking equipment in the loft left over from University. It was do-able.
I'd make and sell my own cakes! I set up my own Magnolia Bakery in Plymouth! Everyone would come into my shop grumpy and rain soaked, and they'd buy my cheap, but amazing cakes and feel better, people would come in and ask for personalized ones, they would have had forgotten about their friends birthday and my cakes would make everything better.
I smiled, I could take a job as a waitress and work evenings, and run my business by day. It could work. It will work, I looked over at the fit BMW guy and grinned, he grinned back, confused, but happy to.
I skipped over to the shop and paid for the petrol. As I stood in the queue I saw my reflection in the mirror behind the counter, my hair was tied up in a tight ponytail as I didn't use my straighteners anymore - saving electricity - I only wore minimal make-up and I looked awful, but it was my expression that amazed me, I was glowing and I realized everything might be fixed, I had a chance.
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