A Short Story
Ellie Goldstein’s Sunday evenings usually consisted of dinner with the parents and ducking her mother’s attempts to play matchmaker. But last Sunday her mother gave her a present that would turn her life upside down, a strange little doll that forces her to make a wish. If she could have anything in the world, what would she wish for?
Average Reading Time: 13 – 19 minutes (about 4,700 words)
Three Wishes and a Bath
Chuck Heintzelman
Copyright © 2011 by Chuck Heintzelman
I would have to kill my mom for giving me the psychotic little mannequin.
Okay, not literally kill her, but she’d be getting a piece of my mind. The little mannequin was six inches tall and made from blonde wood. Joints on the neck, waist, arms, and legs allowed you to bend and pose the doll.
The problem was the tiny mannequin was alive.
It was also a misogynist jerk. A royal pain in the tuchus.
Let me back up. My name’s Ellie Goldstein. I’m thirty-five, never married, and according to Mom, on the verge of old maidhood. That’s why she gave me the mannequin last Sunday.
I usually go to my parent’s house in Skokie for Sunday dinner. It’s the only time I get to eat a home cooked meal. I live on junk food, or chazerei as Mom says.
Last Sunday I drove to my parent’s bungalow and parked in the driveway behind Dad’s Buick wagon. I don’t know what year his rust colored car is, sometime in the eighties, but I swear the car’s so big it has its own zip code.
I went through the front door. The smell of Mom’s cooking filled the house. My mouth watered.
“Ellie is that you,” Mom called from the kitchen.
I hung my jacket over the closet’s doorknob. “Yeah Mom, what’re you making?”
“A lovely brisket. Gabe set it aside special for me, he did. Come I have something to show you.”
Oh no. A surprise from Mom usually meant a nice Jewish boy, a friend’s kid who Mom just happened to invite to dinner. I asked her to stop I don’t know how many times.
I ducked into the living room. Dad sat in his recliner, watching TV, his remote poised to switch channels the second a commercial he didn’t like came on.
“Hey Dad.”
“Hey sweetie.” He looked at me for a second and snapped his head back toward the TV. “Nope. Not that garbage.” He switched the channel.
“It doesn’t matter when you do that,” I said.
“They track it. When viewership goes down eventually they take the stupid commercials off.”
We’d had this conversation more times than I care to admit. The TV still used rabbit ears. No way some evil television conglomerate tracked my dad’s viewing habits, but you couldn’t convince him.
“Ellie,” Mom called. “Where’d you go? I have something to show you.”
I hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “What’s the surprise?”
Dad changed TV channels again and shrugged. “Some stupid doll to solve your problems.”
A doll? What problems? Oh no, not the find a man and make some grandkids discussion again.
“I were you,” Dad said. “I’d head out the back door.”
I rolled my eyes at Dad and went to the kitchen.
Mom’s a short woman, almost perfectly round. Her hair is died so shiny-black it’s obvious to everyone except her it’s fake.
“Oh good,” Mom said. “Sit.”
I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat at the table.
She placed a shoebox wrapped in a red ribbon on the table before me.
“What’s this?” I said. “it’s not my birthday.”
Mom sat in the chair next to me. “I need a reason to give my favorite daughter a present, do I?”
“I’m your only daughter.”
I untied the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside was the six-inch, wooden mannequin. “Uh, thanks.”
Mom reached into the box, removed the mannequin, bent it into cross-legged pose and sat it in front of me. “Darling, isn’t it?”
I eyed Mom, wondering if she needed to adjust her medications.
“Barbara Shellings gave it to me. Some goy, a Romanian gypsy or something, gave it to her. Cute, isn’t it?”
“Why do I need luck?” I asked.
Mom stared at me the same way she had when I was twelve and asked her what the mohel did with the part they cut off.
“Carry it with you,” she said. “and you’ll have the luck of a thousand people.”
“Thanks Mom. When do we eat?”
~
After dinner I made to leave, giving the excuse I needed to go to work early in the morning. A small, white lie. I’m the receptionist at Feldworth Media, the number one rated advertising agency in the Chicago area for six years running, according to Bruntington’s annual survey. As lowly receptionist, I never needed to be early.
I grabbed my purse and coat from the hall closet’s doorknob.
“Don’t forget your present,” mom said.
I grabbed the shoebox with the weird little doll, thanked my parents and left. I tossed the shoebox and my purse in the passenger seat of my Corolla.
On the road, heading back to my apartment off of East Lake Ave in Glendale, I heard a small voice say “Don’t take Golf Road, there’s a traffic jam.”
What? I turned down “Hey Jude” on the radio and listened. Nothing. I must have been imagining it. Tired. Too many late nights watching Jimmy Fallon. I got off the Skokie Highway onto Golf Road and immediately regretted it. Cars were at a standstill. There must be an accident.
“Told ya,” said the small voice again.
I looked around. The shoebox lid had slid off and the little mannequin stood, elbows propped on the edge, face in hands, looking at me. Or would be looking at me, had it any eyes.
I jerked back and let out a little “eep.” Had traffic been moving I probably would’ve crashed my car.
“Okay, Toots,” said the voice, “let’s get this part over with. You’re not crazy. Yes, I’m talking. My name’s not Chuckie and I’m not going to hurt you.”
The car ahead of me moved forward. I didn’t.
“Try breathing,” it said. “In out, in out. There. Isn’t that better?”
The driver behind me laid on his horn. I looked into my rearview mirror and pulled forward a few feet before the driver let up on the horn. Jerk.
I looked at the doll. Its face was a blank thumb of wood, no facial features, no mouth, eyes, nose, or ears. How did it talk?
The car ahead of me moved again. I lurched forward to close the gap. I wished I was in front this traffic.
Suddenly, there was a loud roar and the world around me blended together, colors swirling into grey and then unswirling. The noise stopped. The cars in front of me were gone. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a small, red sports car, maybe a Mustang—I don’t know from cars—with its front-end crumpled. A large black pickup with cartoonishly large wheels, was in front of it. The vehicles must have collided. Two police cars with red and blue flashing lights were parked diagonally across the road. One cop was directing traffic around the accident. It took a moment for my brain to process what happened. Somehow, I had moved a quarter mile down the road, in front of the traffic jam.
A series of honks focused my attention. I was, after all, stopped in moving traffic. I pulled forward, then off into a 7-11 parking lot and turned off the engine.
Was I having a stroke or aneurism? I looked at the mannequin in the shoe box on the passenger seat. It still stood there, leaning on its elbows, but now shook its head back and forth.
I needed air. Needed to get away from this thing. I reached for my door handle and as I did my door locks engaged.
“You can’t run away,” it said.
Okay. Time for the men in white coats to come and take me away.
“I told you you’re not crazy.” It put its arms up in the air. “Why can’t this part ever be easy?”
“What are you?” I asked.
“I’m the best thing to ever happen to you, Toots.”
Yep. I was definitely crazy.
“I promise you,” it said. “This is real. You’re not crazy. Can we get past this? Here it is real slow: You. Not. Crazy. Got it? I don’t know how to make it any plainer.”
“Can you read my mind?” I asked.
“Only if you wish for something.”
Too many thoughts were bouncing inside my head for me to speak.
“Listen Doll, here’s the deal. I give you three wishes. Like a fairy tale. Now you have two left. If you think a wish or say it, doesn’t matter, I give it to you.”
Was this true? More importantly, what did I want? I’d have to think this through. I sure wish I’d have known so I didn’t waste a wish getting past the traffic jam.
Again, the sound of a tornado and the world swirled together and apart and I was back, stuck in traffic.
“You’ve got one wish left,” it said.
“What? I didn’t mean to make that wish.”
It shrugged its little wooden shoulders.
“Well, I should have three wishes then, because I wished I hadn’t made the previous wish.”
“No, you wished you had known about the three wishes. Think about it.”
I replayed the last few minutes in my mind. Earlier, I somehow knew I had three wishes and wished to be past the traffic jam anyway. Yet, I also remembered not knowing and making the wish. Two simultaneous memories. How confusing.
“Then I wish to start over. A fresh slate with three wishes again.”
It made a noise like the buzzer on a game show. “Wrong.”
Now what would I do?
The little mannequin put its arms up in the air again. “Why do I get the dumb bimbos.”
I hated this thing.
“Tell ya what, Toots. I like you. You’re cute. And I’m bored. So this one time I’ll make an exception. You’ve got three wishes again.”
I remembered reading a story years ago. I think it was called The Monkey’s Paw. In the story a couple gets three wishes. The first wish is for money. Their son is killed and they receive compensation for his loss. Maybe an insurance payout, I don’t remember. Stricken with grief, they wish their son back to life. A short time later there’s a knock on the door. It’s their son. He’d dug himself from his grave, shambled to their home and stood on their doorstep, his body rotting. They used their third wish to wish him dead again.
A car honked at me and I pulled forward. Traffic was no longer stopped, just moving slow.
Point is, wishing for things could be tricky business. The unintended consequences when tempting fate could be horrible.
My eyes darted to the strange little mannequin and back to the car ahead of me. “I wish for no wishes.”
“You what?”
“I don’t want any wishes.”
“Seriously?” it asked.
I nodded, and gave it another quick glance. It hopped out of the shoebox and stood on the seat, hands on hip staring at me. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Nobody’s ever given up their wishes before. It’s not done.”
“Well, I’m doing it. I don’t want the wishes.”
It kicked the shoebox to the floorboard.
I turned right off Golf Road onto Waukengan, taking the corner fast. The mannequin tumbled out of the passenger seat onto my leg, sending a quiver of revulsion through me. I stomped on the brakes. The thing flew to the floorboard and scrambled back into the passenger seat. It jumped up and grabbed the seatbelt, latched it, and climbed under the lap belt.
“Crazy women drivers,” it said.
What a jerk. A real schmekel. I floored it.
How would I get rid of this thing? It didn’t know where I lived so if I could somehow toss it out of the car I should be safe. But it did know where Mom and Dad lived. Would it go back there and mess with them? I couldn’t decide what to do. I wished it would just leave.
“Aha,” it said. “You wished for me to disappear. Sorry, Toots. That’s almost like wishing for another wish. Doesn’t count.”
“So I have one wish left.”
“Nope, three.”
“I already used two wishes.”
“Yes and you wished for a do-over.”
“You said I can’t wish for more wishes.”
“Yeow,” it said. “I’ve got a feisty one here.”
I turned off of Waukengan onto East Lake Ave, taking the corner fast, hoping the doll would fall again. It sat back against the seat, arms behind its head, legs tucked under the lap belt, and leaned through the corner.
“Nice try,” it said, patting the seatbelt.
“I don’t think it’s fair,” I said. “How can you force me to take wishes I don’t want?”
It held its hands out, palms up, in a comme ci, comme ca gesture.
“I don’t think it’s fair you take a wish that I only think. I wish you’d only use wishes I say aloud.”
“Done.” it said.
“What?”
“You have two wishes left, but you must speak them aloud.”
I pulled into my apartment building’s parking lot, into my assigned space and gathered my purse and keys. “Now what? Am I supposed to carry you with me?”
“If you would be so kind.”
In one motion I opened my door, got out, and closed it behind me. “Fat chance.”
I sprinted to my building’s door, key out, and got through the outside door as quick as I could. Once inside I peered through the door’s glass window, looking for any movement in the parking lot between the building and my car.
Feeling somewhat safe, hoping the weird little doll would just disappear, I went up the stairs to my apartment. I lived on the sixth floor and usually take the elevator, but figured climbing a few stairs would calm my nerves. The first two flights weren’t bad but then I wished I would’ve taken the elevator.
Once to my apartment, I closed and locked the door behind me. What I needed now was a hot bath. Maybe a glass of wine. I sat my purse on the small table I keep next to my apartment’s door and hung my jacket on the closet’s doorknob. First some wine, then a hot bath. I went down the short hallway to the kitchen and stopped short.
On the counter separating the kitchen from living room stood the mannequin. It did a quick tap dance number and at the end extended a foot, heel on floor, toes up, and its arms out. “Cha, cha, cha,” it said.
I didn’t know what to think.
“Didn’t think you could get rid of me so easily, did you, Toots?”
“Would you stop calling me that?” I said.
“Two more wishes,” it said.
“I wish you’d stop calling me Toots.”
“Sorry, I like calling you Toots.”
“I don’t want any more wishes. I wish I had no more wishes.”
“That’s what I love about you, Toots. You’re so strange. Who doesn’t want their wishes granted?”
“I don’t.”
“Come now. What do you want? World peace? A million dollars? There’s got to be something.”
“Yeah and the moment I ask for a million dollars a plane crashes into my parents home, killing them, and the airlines cut me a check for my loss. No thank you. I don’t want to play.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” it said.
“Technically, I’ve already used four wishes. Can’t you just leave me alone now?”
It sat on the counter’s edge, one leg across the other, and looked at the back of one hand as if examining its fingernails for dirt. Only it didn’t have fingernails, it didn’t have fingers, only tiny wooden lumps for hands.
“Maybe,” it said. “I could be persuaded.”
“How?”
“Maybe, if you were nice to me.” It stood and strutted along the counter. Then it stopped, put its hands on its hips and swayed them around. “Maybe, if you were real nice.”
Was this creepy doll hitting on me? On the other side of the counter from the mannequin was a bottle of Chardonnay. For a brief moment I entertained the idea of grabbing the bottle and cracking it over the mannequin’s head.
“Maybe, if you were to kiss me I’d drop the whole wish thing.”
“You don’t even have lips. And gross.”
I went to my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, grabbed my bathrobe and went to the bathroom. I needed to get away from the doll and think things through. I flipped the lever to stop up the tub, turned on the hot water, and sprinkled in bubbled bath. While the bathtub filled, I went to the mirror and looked at myself.
“Are you cracking up?” I asked myself. Talking to yourself is common when you’ve lived alone as long as I have.
My eyes looked tired, dark bags underneath them. This whole situation had a weird, surreal feeling. Like I was trapped in a Twilight Zone episode. Mannequins who can talk and grant wishes don’t happen in real life. I pinched myself on the cheek and felt it. In the mirror I examined my skin where I had pinched myself, watching the color of my cheek turn from white to pink.
I noticed the bathroom door in the mirror and rushed over to locked it. Then I paused, unlocked the door, opened it, took a step out and looked around the corner into my kitchen.
The mannequin was sitting on the counter’s edge again, legs dangling off the side, swinging up and down, making a clack-clack-clacking sound against the counter.
I went back into the bathroom, locked the door behind me, and turned off the water. I stripped off my clothes, leaving them jumbled on the bathroom floor, and eased myself into the tub.
The hot water felt incredible. I slid lower in the tub, submerging my head underwater, engulfing myself in the hot, soapy water. Underwater, I felt the day’s stress slide off me like a snake sloughing its skin.
When I could hold my breath no longer I brought my head up and wiped my eyes dry with the first two fingers of each hand. Sitting on the bathtub faucet was the mannequin.
I sat straight up and yelled. “What the hell? Get out.”
“Nice rack, Toots.”
I crossed my arms, covering my breasts. “I said get out.”
“Two wishes left. Maybe fame? You want to be a famous actor? A singer?”
“I wish you would leave.”
“Sorry. Not a valid wish.”
What were my options? I couldn’t control this thing. It did what it wanted. If I came up with a couple wishes was it possible there’d be no unintended consequences? I didn’t want to find out. But it did say if I kissed it then it’d leave me alone.
“Leave now,” I said. “When I’m finished I’ll kiss you.”
It disappeared. I didn’t see it vanish. It was more like it had never been there. I could remember it both being there and not being there.
Was I losing my mind?
I wanted to sink under the bubbles again but didn’t dare.
What if this strange little doll was an enchanted prince waiting for a kiss to break his spell? Like the fairy tale with the princess and the frog.
Yeah, right.
With my luck it’d transform into an overweight bum who’d camp out on my couch, smoke cigarettes, drink beer and watch soap operas all day.
Now that my bath was ruined, I hurried and washed and dried myself. I retrieved my bathrobe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and went out to face this little nuisance.
I marched right up to the little mannequin, who had now resumed its perch, clack-clack-clacking its legs against my kitchen counter. I didn’t want to grab hold and kiss it. Instead, I craned my neck forward and touched my lips to its head, then stepped back.
Nothing happened.
“Not good, Toots. You can do better than that. I need some tongue.”
I took a step away from it. “You’re kidding.”
“No. If you want me to let you skip your remaining wishes, then I need a real kiss.”
“Tongue? You want me to lick you?”
“Yes. Licking’s good.”
God. What a nightmare. “Do you promise to leave and never bother me again if I do this?”
It held up a hand. “I solemnly swear.”
I didn’t know if I could do it. I stepped closer, bent my head down, snaked out my tongue and licked its head. It felt smooth like plastic. Maybe the mannequin wasn’t made of wood but of plastic that looked like wood.
“Lick up and down,” it said. “Pretend my head’s a lollipop.”
I licked the thing’s head a few more times.
It fell back laughing. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”
“Now you have to leave, you promised.”
“No, I promised maybe I’d leave. That I’d consider it.”
The little bastard. “You raised your hand and said you’d swear.”
“Oh,” it said, getting to its feet. “I guess I lied.”
I was tempted to pick the thing up, stick it down my sink’s drain, and turn on the garbage disposal, but I still didn’t want to touch it. Now my tongue needed sanitizing. Listerine, maybe even boiling water.
I fetched my cell phone from my purse, went to my bedroom and speed dialed my parents.
“Hello,” Mom answered.
“Hey Mom. Where did you get this doll again?”
“Barbara Shellings. Helped her daughter, it did.“
“Helped her daughter with what?”
“You know. Find a decent man.”
Oh God. Of course. This was all about my mother’s infernal desire for me to find a man and have grandkids.
“What’s her daughter’s name?” I asked.
“Shelly, I think.”
“Shelly Shellings?” Her parents must have a warped sense of humor.
“Yeah,” Mom said. “That’s it.”
“Okay. Just curious. Gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I disconnected. So, Shelly Shellings had the mannequin before me. I called information for Shelly’s number and dialed it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Shelly Shellings?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said slowly.
“This is Ellie Goldstein. My mother gave me a little wooden mannequin you used to have.”
“Oh God.”
“Anything you care to tell me about it?”
“Sorry. This isn’t a good time.” She hung up.
My suspicions confirmed. Shelly had experienced the same thing I was going through. How did she get through it? I bet she made the wishes and regretted the outcome.
What would I do? Come up with a couple wishes and hope for the best?
I went back to the kitchen. It still sat on the counter, swinging its legs.
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “Maybe after sleeping on it I’ll know what to wish for.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Toots.”
I went to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
~
The night lasted forever. I slept fitfully, never making it more than an hour before jerking awake. The mannequin clack-clack-clacked in my kitchen all night long. The alarm’s beep came too early. I smacked the alarm to have nine more minutes before having to move.
A plan formed in my sleep-deprived mind. I would destroy the mannequin. Fire would be best. I’d have to be quick, before the thing could disappear from danger. My brain had a vague image of a steel mill with molten metal and me throwing the mannequin into the metal and then joyfully skipping away, forever free of the wish-granting doll. Of course, I’d never been inside a steel mill and didn’t know how common tanks of molten metal were. I’d have to do some research.
I drug myself to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. “God, girl,” I said to my reflection. “You look like crap.” I ran hands through my hair. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work.”
Immediately, I realized my folly. I had spoken a wish.
I went to the kitchen.
The doll stood and tap danced again. “One wish left, Toots.”
My cell phone rang. Caller ID read “Mom and Dad.”
“Hey Mom,” I said.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank God. A bulletin came on the TV. There was an explosion downtown. Your building, it was. You said you were going in early—“
“—Oh my God.”
“Gas leak, they said.”
“Oh my God,” I said again.
“There’s police and fire and ambulances all over the place.”
I flipped on the TV. Channel 7, WLS-TV, had the story.
“Listen Mom, I got to go.”
“You’re really okay then?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Love you Mom, bye.”
I hung up, slipped my phone into my robe’s pocket and sank onto my sofa, watching the broadcast. They showed the Hamilton building, location of Feldworth Media. An entire corner of the building was missing. Dark smoke hung in the air.
“We have reports,” said the newswoman, “of at least four casualties and twenty people wounded.”
I looked at my kitchen counter. The doll sat lotus style, hands on its thighs, a skinny, little Buddha.
“Why?” I asked.
“Don’t blame me, it was your wish.”
I stood and stepped around the couch toward the mannequin. “I didn’t wish for this.”
“You didn’t specify how, only that you didn’t want to have to go to work.”
I stepped closer to the thing, my legs and arms shaking. Consciously, I clenched my hands into fists. “I did not wish for this.”
“Calm down, Toots. You still have one wish.”
I grabbed the bottle of Chardonnay and swung it down on the mannequin, but the doll disappeared. The bottle hit the counter with a loud crack, which I felt to the fillings in my teeth. Surprisingly, the bottle didn’t break.
“Missed,” it said from behind me. I spun. It now stood on the back of the couch. “One more wish. Come on, Baby.”
“I wish you were dead!” I said.
“Let you in on a secret. I’m not really alive.”
I threw the bottle at it. The bottle went wide and hit the TV, bouncing off, leaving a two inch dark spot on the TV that showed no picture. Otherwise, the TV appeared undamaged. The broadcast now showed pictures of the victims. A photo of Jimmy Franks, a copyeditor with a wife and baby. He was a funny guy who shaved his head bald because, as he put it, there was no sense pruning a dead tree.
My legs buckled and I collapsed. The worst thing had happened. Why had I said the stupid wish in front of the mirror?
The mannequin appeared on the floor, inches away from me.
I lunged for it, but it hopped out of the way.
“You know, Toots, laying there like that I can see right down your robe.”
I lunged for it again and missed.
“One more wish,” it said.
“Okay,” I said, my throat raw. “I wish my life, and I mean every aspect of my life, my work, my family, friends, even people I don’t know, was just the same as before I met you. I don’t want anyone harmed or any thing. No animals or property.”
“That’s not a fun wish.”
Fun?
“Are you sure? Think about it, Toots. You’re passing by the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Yes! That’s my wish.”
“Fun playing with you, Toots.” It disappeared.
Fun? What type of sick, twisted entity thought destroying people’s lives was fun?
My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my robe’s pocket, answering automatically. “Hello.”
“Ellie,” Mom said. “Good you’re still home.”
“Listen Mom, I still need to process this explosion.”
“Oh my God. What explosion?”
I got to my feet and looked at the TV. Good Morning America was on. The damaged black spot from the wine bottle was gone. I looked at my kitchen counter. The wine bottle was back in its original location.
“You okay?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, sorry. There’s no explosion. Just a dream.”
“Oh good. I wanted to make sure you were coming next Sunday. Selma’s son is in town and I know he’s divorced and normally I wouldn’t mettle, but I thought I could invite him.”
“I’d love to meet him.”
“Good. Well I better let you get to work.”
My final wish had been granted.
~ The End ~
Here’s my journal creating the story
Mar 7 – I thought it’d be fun to write from an image so spent 20 minutes finding an image to use for the story. Then came up with the title “Bath Quixotic.” I doubt that title will last. Spent time off and on trying to think of a story and nothing has really come to mind. Finally, several hours after picking the image I went back and wrote a couple opening sentences. I think I’ll have to wing this story a bit. That makes me afraid the same thing will happen as the reaper story that I had to shelve. But with the couple of sentences I do have a character forming in my head, a relationship with her mother, and a image to use partway through the story. Total time today 30 trackable minutes. Word count 35.
Mar 8 – Wrote for 40 minutes. Word count is 907 (872 new words). I don’t really have a clue where this story is going yet, but the character I have a good feeling for. She reminds me a little of Stephanie Plum of the Janet Evonovich seires. This has been mostly setup so far, I think soon she’ll have the discovery that this little weird doll can talk.
Mar 9 – Wrote for 40 minutes, word count is 1,792 (885 new words). So now this has turned into a three wishes type story. Interesting, but I’m pretty clueless what the wishes will be our how it will end. I’ll just keep inching the characters along, letting them do things that seem interesting to me at the time and trust the process. I hope the story doesn’t peter out at the end. I don’t think it will but I am afraid that there’ll be no great closing or third wish that somehow makes the story resonate. Trust the process (I tell myself).
Mar 10 – In 30 minutes I brought the word count up to 2,510. That’s 718 new words. I’ve reached my 700 word per day goal. I’m now thinking the title will be “3 wishes and a bath.” The bath comes solely from the image I selected that I’m writing the story for. I don’t know how this is going to end yet, but will have to add a bath 
Mar 11 – Too busy at work, did not write.
Mar 12 – Spent 20 minutes and got the word count to 2,870. I’ll add some more words later. I left off at a great place so it will be easy.
Mar 13 – 30 minutes and the word count is now 3105.
Mar 14 – 40 minutes, word count is 4144 (1039 new words). Spent 30 minutes finishing the cover. It took a bit longer than I wanted because I got hung up on the color of the text and deciding what looked best when the cover was postage stamp size. I finally went with almost black.
Mar 15 – I want to wrap this story up soon. I didn’t know what to write so I went back and spent 70 minutes cleaning up what I had so far. Not doing an in-depth edit, but fixing typos, spelling, etc. Then spent 40 minutes getting to the end. 5025 words, or 881 new ones. Spent 3 1/2 hours editing
Mar 16 – Spent another 1 hour 40 minutes editing. Word count down to 4704.
Total time writing, editing, artwork, etc. 11 hours and 20 minutes across nine days