So, You Want To Be A Writer...

“There are a few things you need to know before we start.” Jess stood up in front of the group of writers. “I know you all feel comfortable in your abilities as story tellers, but this is different.” She walked around the small room slowly, checking out everyone’s means of communication they’d brought. I had my MacBook, relic that it is, but it hasn’t failed me yet. I saw a couple of old IBM’s mixed in with laptops scattered around on the desktops.

“The government is looking for the very best, and since you’re here, you all must be one of the top writers in your field.” Jess made her way back to the front of the room and leaned against the ancient chalkboard. “This will be the single most important assignment of your lives, like it or not. They won’t tolerate lies, half-truths, or fabrications of any kind.” She looked at me and held my gaze for a moment.

I had made my living as a fiction writer before the takeover. Next to me, Marla, had been a freelance writer, mostly on news articles and magazine items. Lisa, near the front of the room, was the best journalist I knew. She’s covered the war during the period that lead up to the takeover for the national news relay. I didn’t recognize another soul in the room.

An older man in the back of the room spoke up. “What are they looking for, exactly?” Fair question if you asked me. Three days ago there was a knock on my door and a summons of sorts was slid underneath. The envelope was embossed with the current government’s seal. The only information included was an official notice for me to report at eight o’clock am the next day. A map to the building we meeting had been drawn with directions specifically from my apartment. There were hardly any street signs or numbers on buildings these days, maps were the only way to get from A to Z anymore. And a reliable map? Near impossible to get a hold of, only sold on the black market.

“You have all been brought here to document the history of New Eurasia. I have specific assignments for each of you, and you must not stray from your topic.” Jess pushed off the chalkboard and walked to a desk at the front of the room. She reached inside her satchel and pulled out ten large manila envelopes, passing one to each person in the room. On her way back to the front, I noticed she had chalk on the back of her shirt. I hadn’t used chalk since grade school. I wondered if it still smelled the same way.

I opened my packet and slid the contents out in front of me. There was an outline of sorts, beginning back in 1975.



I. Children’s Stories

a. Heard from parents

b. Told in school

c. Children’s books



II. Popular Fiction

a. Children

b. Young adult



I raised my hand, “Jess, what is this about? I’m not sure I understand. Aren’t these stories in the Hall of Knowledge?” I looked at the others, they all had similar looks of confusion on their faces. Marla angled her assignment towards me. It was instructing her to write articles on cultural events in the years 1981 – 1992.

Jess took a deep breath. “As you can see from the assignments you’ve been given, you are to reconstruct the known history from 1975 until present.” She paused for this to sink in.

“But I wasn’t born in-“ I started, but Jess cut me off.

“I know, that’s why they gave you fiction.” She said. “The ministry wants to preserve a history of the peaceful blending of our governments.” Her tone was serious. Dead serious.

“The ‘blending’ of our governments was anything but-” A woman in the back of the room said. Her voice was trembling, and she started to stand up but Jess shot her a look that made her sit down fast. Once I got a good look at her, it all came back to me. Her face had been all over the news a few years ago. The ministry caught her son trying to run an underground school. She had tried to lobby the ministry for leniency, but it fell on deaf ears. He was publicly executed for treason.

“The ministry feels each of you in this room have a unique ability to contribute to the Halls of Knowledge for future generations.” Jess explained. “I want you to each take your assignments home and go over them very carefully. We will meet here nightly and I will review your work before it’s submitted. Once it comes back with an ‘Approved’ stamp, it will be published and entered into our country’s general history.”

“And if I refuse,” the woman said.

“If anyone in this room refused to comply with the assignments you’ve received, or I don’t see sufficient progress at our nightly meetings, I have been instructed to turn the matter over to the ministry.” Jess said softly. She was an old friend of mine. I could see the pain in her eyes as she instructed us. “You are all dismissed until tomorrow evening. Same time, don’t be late.”

The severity of what would surely be my last work of fiction slowly sank in.





Leigh Lewis

I own a brewery/movie theater/restaurant in Asheville, NC. I’m a mom to a 12 year old boy and 4 year old white German Shepherd. Oh, and when I grow up, I’m going to be a writer.