Okay, So That Thing I Mentioned Last Time...

            Me and a friend of mine are collaborating on a story. I have never done this before... It's for a mystery story writing contest. It is much harder than I thought, reason one being someone has to die, whether because of her insistence or the simple fact that murder mysteries are the simpler mysteries to write. We disagree a lot. I can't hold interest in a particular storyline. I like the first idea that we decided wasn't really a mystery. Mysteries are amazing to read, surely. Writing them, much like anything, is completely different.
It's waxing mildly frustrating.
Now it's very late and I am tired.
Sorry for keeping this so late... like anyone cares.
As you can tell, we didn't make much progress.
            My sister worried me today. Not the usual worries. A different kind of worry. A less funny sort of worry. A dreadfully common ailment for my generation and nearly all grownups of these times. It sort of snuck up on me.
            It was a simple enough start. She intruded my room muttering 'Mangas... mangas...' and began scouring my bookshelf. I have all of three, all based of actual novels. All merely holdovers from when I was teaching myself the style. On more of a whim than anything, I handed her A Wrinkle in Time and told her to read that instead. After all, I had read it around her age and I had loved it.
The little socialite outright refused, laughing.
I begged, I coaxed, I gave a vain shot at reverse psychology. This escalates into a scuffle. An actual scuffle between my strong, stubborn insisting she read the book or sit down and let me read to her and her 'I don't like reading, I won't!' attitude. For a considerable longer time than I would normally put toward any physical effort I was making a fool of my scrawny self trying to drag her away from the door. I kid you not. Finally I pulled the wimpy, effortless maneuver called 'Tell Parents to Force Her.' It is a empty win, sometimes hard to correctly enforce, but in the end I was reading it to her and she was listening and for a while I felt I had accomplished something. I didn't quite get the message across... according to her summary she was absorbing about as much as an infant could absorb the entire history of World War Two. After I let my disapproval be known she said many similar things that were denied to Mom two seconds later. "I don't have an imagination." "I have an imagination, but don't use it." and finally "I have an imagination, but don't want to use it now..." It's always an unsettlingly funny thing to watch Rose edit herself as she speaks, pretending the world has a backspace button and we all don't realize what a scarily bone-headed thing she just said. 
I am a reader, and by whatever god there is, my sister will be too. Comics and anime is tolerable enough. Fine in moderation. But they cannot, will not, if I have anything to say, be the contents of her entire literary background, with few exceptions. Sorry, enough ranting, it's nearly midnight.

T.Y.G.E.R.