Unfinished Chapter of a Book

Everyone wants to write a book. I’m not sure if it’s for the money, the fame or both. Or perhaps, there’s just a subconscious desire for each and every one of us to get noticed somehow… to be heard and be able to make a difference in our own little, inconspicuous ways.  I know I do. It’s just that I never took up journalism.  But I do have a penchant for writing. And so do many people I know. These days, you don’t have to have a degree in communication to write a book. You just have to have certain connections in the publishing industry or better yet, be someone famous! And voila! People would seem to want to buy your book. I’m neither of those things. But I do have dreams. And I’m making them real now.

Let me share with you first who I am. And in the course of reading it, if in case you get bored out of your wits, you can throw this book for all I care. But if I do catch your attention somehow, then that’s a big enough accomplishment for me. I’m telling you though — I’m not rich, nor famous, nor do I know anyone in this industry. So it’s a risk you’re taking if you buy and read my book. That’s a BIG IF and I thank you in advance. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

My name is Brooke Adams. I won’t lie to you. I’m no writer. And what’s worse, I’m not even sure if I have a real story to tell, just my own. So maybe I should tell you a bit more about myself. I’m 28 and for the most part I look pretty normal. My friends say I’m pretty and I like to think that they’re right. I do know that I have a smoking body. I may only stand five feet tall but I have curves to die for and my breasts are just a tad too big for my small frame. Let’s just say that they’ve been getting a lot of attention ever since fifth grade.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be an actress or a singer or some sort of celebrity. In school, I joined practically every presentation that would take me. This wasn’t easy though, being the eldest daughter in a family of five that wasn’t exactly well off. And after college, the realities of having to “help out” discouraged me to pursue a career in the arts. Instead, I became a teacher. Not exactly glamorous and the paycheck was paltry, but at least it was steady. My family needed me to be stable.

Every so often I was fortunate enough to land a few acting gigs, for TV ads and one time, I was even a minor character in a soap opera. And I totally lived for that. It sort of kept my dream alive. Sure I was light years away from becoming famous, but at least I felt that I had my foot in the door. But that was about to change. That door was about to slam shut. And when it did, it not only crushed my foot. It broke my heart.