You are David Watkins, an aspiring writer who has decided to make his books "appeal to a younger audience". As an unfortunate side effect of this declaration, your book is riddled with cliches and terrible writing. Of course, you don't see this in time and publish the book anyway. It is so terrible that someone who wasted twenty bucks on your worthless use of ink places a curse on you, subjecting you to your own terrible writing...

Of course this isn't serious. A serious attempt at a first story could only lead to instant death.

Thank you. I was planning to have the way you act in the introduction (that's what I have done so far) impact the way you start when your character gets warped into the book and have it branch out from there. Thanks for pointing out the perspective issues. I will get those fixed before publishing.

Uncarbonated 7-up perhaps? Lemon-lime has to be better than just lemon, and if you took the sugar out...

Actually, I disagree with whatever idiot wrote the first line. Lemon Gatorade with electrolyte junk should do the trick with the sugar removed. The added bonus is you count as a sports league, not an assassin, if you use pure Gatorade, legitimizing the process.

On the floors of Tokyo
A-down in London town's a go go
A-with the record selection,
And the mirror's reflection,
I'm a talkin' with myself

A-when there's no one else in sight,
A-in crowded lonely night
Well, I wait so long for my love vibration
And I'm talking with myself

Oh oh, talking with a-myself,
Oh, oh, talking with myself
Well, there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove, well,
talking a-with myself

If I looked all over the world
And there's every type of forum
But your empty eyes seem to pass me by
And leave me talkin' with myself.

So let's sink another [word that rhymes with think]
Cause it'll give me time to think
If I had the chance I'd ask the world to reply
And I'll be dancin' with myself

Oh oh, talking with a-myself,
Oh, oh, talking with myself
Well, there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove, well,
talking a-with myself

Well if I looked all over the world
And there's every type of forum
But your empty eyes seem to pass me by
And leave me talkin' with myself.

So let's sink another stink shrink mink
Cause it'll give me time to think
If I had the chance I'd ask the world to reply
And I'll be talin' with myself

Oh oh, Talking a-with myself,
Oh, oh, Talking with myself
If I had the chance I'd ask the world to reply
If I had the chance I'd ask the world to reply
If I had the chance I'd ask the world to reply
Oh, oh, oh, oh oh
Oh, oh, oh talkin' with myself.
Oh, oh, talkin' with myself, oh, oh,

etc. etc. Typing at myself, etc. etc.

Dang. By the way, mizal, how are you literally everywhere at once in the forums?

If that link is dead, you can take a look at the first page:

Finally. After all these years of backbreaking toil, fighting off editors, and brutally suppressing anyone who disliked your book, you're finally here. Yard upon yard of unspoiled linoleum, save for whatever the janitor's mopping up in the corner there, stretch out as far as you can see. Of course, that's assuming it goes under the wall behind the receptionist's desk. You inhale deeply, and are not disappointed. The advertisements were right. The air really is fresher in Lebanon united publishing. 

You don't actually live in Lebanon, of course. You've always liked the good ol' USA; save for one shortcoming. None of their infernal publishing companies had been ready for your book. They had sent you letters of rejection. That's right, they REJECTED the glory that was YOUR book. You had thought whatever insanity your mom had suffered from when she called your book garbage had been a one-time thing. But somehow, that insanity was catching, and everyone you showed it to had said something or the other about "cliches" and "stereotypes". You don't know what that means. You don't speak French. But it was obvious they had hated it.

Here at Lebanon United, they at least had the decency to let me publish it! Their editors hadn't touched it, and its perfection had been maintained! Your friends had laughed at you when you told them this was were you were publishing it. They had said the good folks at LU were scammers. Ha! You wish you could see their faces now. Nobody with an office this nice could be a scammer.

You shuffle triumphantly to the reception desk. The receptionist, a somewhat chubby middle-aged man with a mullet that had been badly dyed black, looks up at you as you approach. 

"Wasssssup?" he spat in a slurred midwestern accent. "Yo wan'a booook published?"

"Uh, yeah. I already sent you my book. How do you not know about it yet?" You respond, a bit deflated.

"Uhhh, mannn, I'm just the receptionist, mannnnn..." He checked a pad of sticky notes on his polished marble desk. "uhhh... I dunno, mannnnn... this might take me a while... oh, there it is!"

He produces a single note from the pile. "You're Mr. Idiot with the book that appeals to young people, righhhht?" He asks, reading directly off the note.

Whoah. You're not sure how to respond to that. You certainly don't think you're an idiot.

(Just as background information, you actually are an idiot. Later in the story I'm going to have the protagonist get warped into his own story and scrape out a meager existence amongst the cliches of his own creation.)

I don't know if this link will work. I need somebody to take a look at my unfinished story and provide input on whether I should even bother writing it.

It's the German name for Bilbo

https://chooseyourstory.com/story/the-curse-of-your-own-stupidity 

Like this?

As soon as I can figure out how to set my profile picture, that is.

Thank you.