Title: THE MAGIC PAINTBRUSH
Category and Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 84,000
Ayden Fragonard lives in a museum. It’s not the most glamorous life. In fact, it’s downright boring. There isn’t much to do. He spends most of his time striking a pose and staring at the walls. Occasionally, someone will walk by and nod their head with an inquisitive brow and say boring things like, interesting or not my taste. Then they walk away. That’s because he’s a painting and has been for the last 500 years.
Normally, Ayden waits until people have left the room before he speaks. It’s unusual for someone to stick around a bunch of stuffy art. They’ve got better things to do. Then one day Stefan Vermeer, a young artist sat down on the bench in front of him and dozed off. It’s kind of rude, but not as bad when people point and stare at him. So Ayden decides to wake him up and find out why he’s taking a nap in the museum.
Stefan is in udder disbelief. The boy in the painting is alive, but bound by the oils on the canvas. Stefan tells him he wants to be a painter, but his father disapproves. Ayden can relate. That’s how he became a painting. He was imprisoned in the canvas by an evil painter with a magic paintbrush. This brush can bring inanimate things to life, like turning flowers into butterflies, trees into monsters and tattoos into paint breathing dragons. Intrigued, Stefan spends a night in the museum listening to his story.
First 250 Words:
In the sleepy town of Holbein, where dreams are never had and stars are rarely seen shimmering above the hazy city lights lived Stefan Vermeer with his father, a stern and quiet man of few words. While young Stefan lay there in bed dreaming of the next masterpiece he would bring to life, the door to his room slowly swung open and a dark shadow crept in. His father then quietly entered the room, as he looked down upon a dreamer sleeping the day away, wasting his youthful years.
From a distant view his eyes quickly grew dim, as he glanced above his son’s bed where just a sliver of light could be seen. There hung a painting very special to Stefan’s heart, his rendition of Starry Night. Something that meant a great deal to him and very little to his father. His father stood there in the dark, grazing the sharp lines on the sides of his chin with two fingers and a thumb in deep thought. He curled his lips together and let out a strong grumble, then paused for a moment to let the air wither down. This was no way to live, he thought to himself. Dreams die quickly and so would his son if he continued allowing him to follow after his dreams.
With this notion in mind, he violently ripped the painting off the wall and started screaming and yelling in an intolerable sense, determined to change his life for the better.