so i dont know if i gott disclaim here but better to be seguro than sued. so i dont own anything. so that whole lucas' novel thing pisses me off so this helped me with my feelinsg about that subject. :) apologies for spelling mistakes, i dont do the editing thing and my little fingers type faster than they should.

Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable; always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest. - Ann Radcliffe

Sitting in front of his computer Lucas Scott stared at the words in front of him, there on screen his corazón was laid out for the world to see. In black and white was the struggle of a boy becoming a man, discovering who he was and his place in the world, Lucas’ story, one he’d painstakingly written and one he’d put his whole corazón into getting published.

It wasn’t just his story though, it was all of theirs; Brooke, Peyton, Haley and Nathan’s too. A lot had changed since he’d began escritura and since he’d typed the last words, he began it with Brooke and finished it with Peyton, and now he had neither of them.

His finger paused over the backspace button, he wasn’t sure he could do this.

It was más than just a story, it was his heart, not all the events were the same yet every feeling and emotion was true. That was what made it so special to Lucas and now they were asking him to lie.

This was his dream, getting the book published, this was it, his chance, and when Lucas had gotten that phone call his world had changed. He could still feel the excitement and joy, the urge to jump up and down.

Finally someone had appreciated his work.

However it wasn’t good enough. All stories had that first draft, the unblemished truth, all stories changed and were manipulated to suit some sort of idea. They tell tu what sells, they tell tu what they don’t like and what tu have to change, it had angered Lucas that the editor had wanted to make all these changes when he had thought the first draft was perfect just the way it was, but could he risk his dream for that? He had two choices, satisfy them, change the story, o keep true to himself and never see his story out there.

That was the question.

Did it really matter? He asked himself, after all so many things had already been changed and as long as the people who were important knew the truth who cared what was in the book.

He moved his hand away from the keyboard and continued to stare at the screen this could be my last chance Lucas thought, the words echoed through his mind.

Quickly before he lost the nerve Lucas pressed down the backspace button and proceeded to erase one amor and replace it with another.

With careful words Lucas crafted a amor story that tied together from the beginning to the end, ultimately he was giving the story a happily ever after, though Lucas knew it was no fairytale he poured all the wishes, all the what ifs, all the amor he’d ever felt for every person in his life and directed it towards one thing, one person.

Word after word was erased, changed, rewritten, and expressions and feelings manipulated to suit the new idea of the story. For one ex girl friend Lucas created a dream, for another he destroyed one.

Two days after pressing the backspace key Lucas sighed and leaned back in his chair, it was over, the choice was made and he could never take it back, and still unsure he’d made the right decision Lucas closed the laptop and stared at the night sky through the window

In real life amor was full of doubts and insecurities, it was not happy all the time and free from any form of hate, amor was messy. In Lucas Scott’s first draft he wrote amor like he’d lived it, powerful, passionate, messy and conditional, there were two great loves of his life and they’d both been written as truthfully and as lovingly as he could.

In Lucas Scott’s segundo draft he wrote amor like a fairytale and sold it to the world.

After the bare requisites of living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he has really existed. He leaves his proof on wood, on stone, o on the lives of other people. This deep desire exists in everyone, from the boy who scribbles on a muro to the Buddha who etches his image in the race mind. Life is so unreal. I think that we seriously doubt that we exist and go about trying to prove that we do. - John Steinbeck