Why is it that when Clara talks about magic, everyone listens and says how creative she is, but when I tell of it, everyone tells me to stop copying off of Clara? I'm not copying; I'm telling the story straight. Clara has it right, too, but that's her side of it, the reality that she saw. It wasn't her imagination, and it wasn't mine either. This is my side of the story, and it's just as real as hers.
My name is Fritz Silberhaus, and Clara is my sister. That Christmas Eve, she was twelve years old, and I was eighteen months older than she was, a proud thirteen-year-old. The family was holding a Christmas party, and all of my friends (and Clara's) were coming. But the story actually starts before the party -- Clara never tells this part. But me, Fritz? I do.
(I'm still playing with this idea...it's based off of The Nutcracker)
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I think it sounds absolutely wonderful! I was intruigued by the exerpt alone, I'd most certainly read it!
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