How about creating an interesting story with these lines?

Marsha rubbed her eyes. Was this truly, the “King of the Monsters”, sitting on top of her Kleenex box? The very same that she almost put her coffee mug on accidentally?

“You know,” said Godzilla, “I’m actually very big in Japan”.

“But here, you’re only about five inches tall,” Marsha said, “You give it all but I want more.”

The miniature, fire-breathing lizard then gave it his all – and more – by incinerating the curtains, plasma TV, and the couch.

“I’m your hell, I’m your dream. I’m nothing in between,” said Godzilla, looking quite tiny yet pleased with himself.

“You are the one thing I believe,” Marsha said, picking up her new little friend by his tail. “Come on, we’ve got someone to visit.”

Later that day, Marsha dropped in on her ex-boyfriend, a down-and-out stuntman named Mark. He had repeatedly taken her for granted, and left her out of many worthwhile activities. The only time he thought to invite her for a party, she was used as the piñata.

“Oh…hey babe,” Mark said, as Marsha entered his trailer. It stank of cheap beer and week-old macaroni and cheese.

“Pee-yoo,” muttered Godzilla, hidden inside her purse.

“You labeled me, I’ll label you…and I dub thee unforgiven!” cried Marsha, whipping out the tiny fire-breathing creature. Godzilla took the cue and instantly torched Mark’s trailer.

“You crazy lady!!’ howled Mark, crashing through a window and tumbling all the way down the hill.

“You know everything about her, but don’t know her at all,” retorted Godzilla, shaking his little scaly fist at the escaping stuntman.

Godzilla and Marsha would go back to her home that afternoon, and spend the rest of the day watching cartoons and eating Ramen Noodles. Later, they turned on “American Idol” and were greeted with a surprising sight: Mark.

“Here I am, playing the star again,” said the charred and delirious stuntman. Marsha knew he was talking to her, specifically. “And I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you, babe.”

The next instant, Mark took the mic and sang an amazing rendition of “I Wanna Know What Love Is”, that brought the house down. The ratings shot up, the audience cheered, and Marsha swooned. That is, until the house was literally brought down, by Godzilla, who had taken a taxi all the way down to the American Idol studios and razed the building.

A half hour later, when Godzilla returned, Marsha gave him a hug. “That jerk almost made me changed my mind,” she began, “but I know you’ll always be looking out for me most, Godzilla!”

The radioactive reptile nodded contentedly, and reclined on Marsha’s lap. He thought long and hard about how he could really stand to have some Biggie Fries at Wendy’s. Maybe after “CSI-Miami”……..

END

You don’t have a single, over-arching plot–something that your hero is always working toward. Think about The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. The whole book can be summed up in a single sentence: Four children, with the help of a powerful lion, fight an evil witch to restore a magical land to peace and harmony. Can you do that with your plot? You can start out with “A boy has a series of adventures…” but there it fizzles out. What is his purpose?

Tiffany had fire coming out of her eyes. She had had enough of Bruno’s subtle insults about her carreer. She knew that he wanted to prevent her from being more successful than she already was because of his fears of losing her, and she couldn’t deal with his feelings of inadequacy followed by his indirect remarks to manipulate her into letting go of the very thing she worked so hard for.

She spat, “You can say what you will, but (1)I’m actually very big in Japan. It absolutely baffles me that you have no belief in me whatsoever”.

Bruno exhaled with a hurt expression, “Baby, (7)you are the one thing I believe. You are my dreamgirl, haven’t I supported you through thick and thin? Isn’t it enough? You told me you wanted kids and now you are telling me all that we’ve accomplished together as partners is not enough… You are turning my dreams into a nightmare from hell”.

Tiffany, fixing her composure, replied as calmly as she could muster, “Yes, you have been there for me. I agree that (3)you give it all, but I want more. However I have to strike while the iron is still hot. (5)Here I am playing the star, again. If I disappear for 9 months to a year, I will lose my position in the industry. There is always another eager young one coming with stars in her eyes, nobody will be waiting for me. I can’t stop now”. Then seing the pain-stricken expression on Bruno’s face she quietly added, “I know that (4)I’m your hell, I’m your dream; I’m nothing in between, but you have to admit that you wouldn’t want it in any other way”.

Bruno shook his head ruefully, and muttered, “My mom was right when she said, ‘(2)You know everything about her, but don’t know her at all’, I see a new aspect of you in every waking day and now it really is getting exhausting. I don’t think I can join you on your tour this time. You will have to go to europe and asia with the crew but without me. The pain of disapointment is weighing too heavily on me. You are spoiled and selfish”.

TIffany whirled around with her face burning in humiliation. She had never heard Bruno talk to her like that, and pressuring her to give up her carreer and dreams to get her pregnant in his own convenience was the definition of selfishness in her book.

Taking a deep breath in her desperate attempt to control her temper, she looked at him dead in the eye and without blinking responded,” That was below the belt and totally uncalled for. (6)You labeled me, I’ll label you; and I dub thee unforgiven”.

THE END–or is it???

Darlene was a celebrity in the local club circuit. She had a wonderful natural talent, a beautiful voice, but she was untrained. Darlene wanted to make entertainment her career, and she recognized that she would need a demanding voice coach in order to go to the next level.

Through friends, Darlene was introduced to Felicia Garza. Ms Garza carried herself in the self-assured manner that people acquire when they are important, talented, and experienced. “I’m actually very big in Japan,” Ms. Garza informed Darlene. Felicia insisted that Darlene audition to see if she would agree to take Darlene on as a mentee. Darlene sang four of her best songs.

“You want to sound like Whitney Houston,” Felicia insisted when Darlene had finished. “You know everything about her, but don’t know her at all. If I agree to take you under my wing, you will work night and day. Now, you give it all, but I want more — much more.”

Darlene agreed. Felicia worked Darlene mercilessly. She sang scales for hours. She did breathing exercises. Ms. Garza sent her to the gym to toughen her abdomen and her diaphram. Darlene was placed on a strict diet, and observed required bed times to get sufficient rest. Darlene listened to recordings of other artists that illustrated techniques that Ms. Garza wanted her to master. “I’m your hell, I’m your dream; I’m nothing in between,” warned Felicia.

Through her contacts, Felicia was able to secure better engagements for Darlene as her talent improved. She found herself singing better material in larger venues for more money. Darlene began to assume that same air of self-importance she thought she detected in Felicia when they first met.

The problem was that Darlene was not as seasoned nor as talented as Garza. She had not yet “paid her dues.” Finally, there was a big break-through. Darlene was the featured performer in a major concert at Cobo Hall in Detroit.

She and Felicia fought about every aspect of the concert: preparation, repertoire, arrangements and scores, everything down to costuming.

“Here I am, playing the star again,” crowed Darlene, declaring her independence from Garza.

“You are the one thing I believe,” said Garza, “but I just don’t think you’re experienced enough to produce this show.

Darlene did the concert her way, and it was a dismal failure. The reviews were very critical. Darlene’s bookings dried up, and her career, which was promising, became non-existent.

Some months later, Felicia Garza went to a local club with friends for a drink. Late that evening, Darlene was introduced and sang a few numbers. At the end of her first set, she went to Felicia’s table to say hello.

“You labeled me, I’ll label you; and I dub thee unforgiven,” Ms Garza told her. Darlene was never again able to bring her singing career to the level she had achieved under Felicia Garza’s direction.

Hmm..very interesting

You gotta be a little more..descriptive on what kind of story you want. do you want a story that tells from a narrator talking about someone else? Do you want a scary story? A very mataphorical story?

So, you like to listen to good music, especially Metalica. Good for you. In as far as creating the story is concerned, I might be a word-wizard, but I am not your friend. Sorry…

There I was, at the book signing in Manhattan, and yes it was going poorly. The turn out was abysmal, and I wanted to just scream at my publisist. “I’m actually very big in Japan, Sid!”, I yelled into my cellular. “Ren, Ren”, he pleaded, “Metallica is suing over the title – I’m your hell, I’m your dream; I’m nothing in between – about your years as base guitarist with the band; and the Japs are eating it up, but face it man, in America, they just don’t care.”

I was momentarily transported back to my flat in London. Here I am, playing the star again. You give it all, but I want(ed) more. She was still covered in the satin whites as the morning sun crept through the curtains. She had whispered, “You are the one thing I believe”, to me as I roused myself from bed, leaving the warmth of her embrase into the cold morning January London air. That whisper had touched me, but my avarice wanted more, I wanted to be a Star! We had been together since New York, and had spent every waking moment together, but I suddenly found myself admitting, “You know everything about her, but don’t know her at all. ” I desperately wanted to love her, but I dreamed a dream that had no room for her. Sid had guided my carrer, and warned me that the road to success had no room for stragglers, and so I left her that day, at Sid’s insistence, and had not seen her since.

The next 4 years were supposed to be about Me, Me, Me, and I was supposed to become bigger than Mick and the Stones, but instead here I was pushing my “tell-all” book to lackluster crowds in backwater towns and big cities.

“Ren?Ren? are you still listening to me?” Sid’s rant knocked me from my ruminations.

“Sid, I have had enough”, I belted, “You labeled me a metal head, so I’ll label you; and I dub thee unforgiven!” I hung up the phone, said goodbye to everything I had built and worked for and grabbed a cab directly to airport.

“I’d sell my soul to again become the one she believed in , recalling her tenderly languid whisper so long ago.” I had to get my soul back; I had to get her back in my life. What good was it to outdo Mick if I had no one to share it with; Without someone to believe in me, other than Sid!

**London is a big place, but I had to start somewhere.”

Uh – those are song lyrics.