Hello these are some words i wrote one time
“The Inquiry of a Different Name”
Harmony awoke early that morning. She knew she had to start writing her novel soon, or she would never finish it. She sat down at her desk and pulled out her notebook, preferring to hand-write her drafts. As she began, a feeling of dread swept over her. This was not hers. The story she had began, “The Inquiry of a Different Name” was too much the work of Austen and too little of her own. She should do well to not copy her own idols, but to instead draw from her own mind.
Harmony was a strange girl. She tried with all her heart to be sad and angry at the world like the poets she so admired, but she could find no substantial fault in her surroundings. The truth was, Harmony was perfectly content with her surroundings. She had a mind full of mystic lands, sweeping plains, and extensive metaphors. She had immense talent as a writer, but she never put any of it to use, instead deciding to spend her days reading Eliot and Whitman and smoking stale cigarettes. She was enrolled at Cambridge, studying art and literature, but rarely attended. When asked, her professors shook their head sadly and said she was wasting her talent and intelligence.
But that was precisely what Harmony wanted. She wanted to amount to nothing. She wanted to waste away. Simply put, she wanted to drown in her own nonexistent misery.