Let's get this party started!

I'm kind of between novels right now. After observing the behaviour of online trolls I thought I'd write a tragedy, and that I'd develop it public.

First things first, we're going to need a synopsis, Nothing designed for public consumption but just an outline of the plot - so I know here I'm going.

The story follows two characters; a sad and lonely teacher who relentlessly trawls the Internet forums hounding and bullying what she calls 'bad writers'. The second character is a war veteran, a supporter of the second Amendment, injured fighting for his country. He desperately wants to succeed as a writer . . . he feels its the only thing he's fit to do.

The veteran and the teacher cross words on a writers forum. 24hrs later the veteran has attracted twenty negative reviews on Amazon's website. He holds the teacher responsible, and another online altercation ensues. The veteran switches his marketing activities to another website but the harsh, negative, personal reviews keep stacking up.

The veteran writes constant letters of complaint to online retailers but his negative press continues to grow, and the teacher continues to goad. him Searching the Internet he finds himself being targeted by many bloggers but research reveals many of the blogger's identities are connected and lead to the same person.

Desperate for a fair chance at success the veteran seeks legal action to stop but when he learns it will cost him $100,000.00 and there is no guarantee of success he becomes disillusioned.

He is approached online by a hacker who offers to give him the teacher's *real* identity for a comparatively modest fee. Using the information provided the veteran contacts the teacher and asks her to call off her dogs.

The teacher laughs at the veteran and ups the ante.

The veteran releases the teacher's details online, inviting other bullied authors to contact her employer and inform them of the teacher's out of control online persona.

The employers take no action.

When the veteran's new book sells only one copy but receives hundreds of negative reviews – the veteran snaps. Armed with his automatic assault rifle he travels to the school where she works – determined to make her stop. He storms into her classroom randomly spraying bullets. Eight children are killed, a further ten are injured. The teacher, however, survives.

An investigation by the school board reveals the emails of complaint. The local community learn of her online ID and search the internet, piecing together the journey to this tragedy.

The entire town turn on the teacher, claiming she brought death and tragedy to their children, they burn down her house.

Facing jail, and knowing she will never be allowed to teach her beloved children again, the teacher commits suicide by throwing herself under a bus (the train was late).

And then you have to start writing the story!

CHAPTER ONE

The little boy opened his eyes, his bottom lip curled over before he burst into tears and began whining in a tone reminiscent of a fire truck.

"Oh, Kevin." His teacher, a portly woman, sighed, waddled across the classroom, and stooped to comfort the child. "Kevin, what's wrong?"

"The troll's coming to get me." He pointed to the still image on the screen.

"Don't be silly. Stop crying. There are no trolls coming to get you. It's just today's story. Did you fall asleep again?"

The other children in the classroom laughed.

The teacher continued. "It's just a video, Kevin. Don't you remember? We were all watching the Three Billy Goats Gruff. It's only a cartoon picture on the screen. Don't be afraid."

The child sniffled, and wiped the tears from his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"Come on." She took the child's hand. "Come with me." The teacher led the boy to the laptop on her desk. "See, it's just a story from in my computer. It's not real . . . look." She closed the browser, then clicked on the Bluetooth Icon. "When I turn off the computer – the troll goes away."

Kevin looked over to the big screen, now displaying NO SIGNAL, and then back to the laptop. "Miss Hinkley, can't the troll come out of the computer and get me?"

"No the troll can't come out of the computer." She patted the boy gently on the head. "Things can't come out of the computer or the television – they're not real, and you've no need to be scared of them." She closed the laptop's lid. "All-gone! Now go back and sit on the carpet with the others. It's time for us to sing a song. . . . Go on. Trip-trap, trip-trap." She shooed the boy.

Kevin hurried back to his classmates, sat cross-legged on the carpet, and raised a hand. "Miss?"

"Kevin?"

"Can we sing The Wheel's off the Bus?"

The other children clapped their hands. "Yay!"

"How many times do you have to be told?" the teacher snapped. "It's the Wheels on the Bus!"

"Come on my good children. All together." She encouraged the class. "The wheels on the bus . . ."

"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round,
round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round,
all through the town."

Miss Janice Hinkley was no oil painting, although, some years ago in High School a very handsome boy had told her, her eyes were pretty.  In that moment lust had taken her, and mistaking the boy for her true prince, she'd given herself to him. It had broken her heart to learn she'd been brutally victimised; he'd stolen her undergarments and hung them on the flagpole of his college; a trophy in the college boy's game of pull the pig.

"The horn on the bus goes Beep, beep, beep; Beep, beep, beep;
Beep, beep, beep. The horn on the bus goes Beep, beep, beep,
all through the town."

The experience with the boy scarred her, drowning her tender young heart in bitterness and regret. Adults, men in particular, were not to be trusted, and should best be avoided.

"The mommy on the bus says Shush, shush, shush; Shush, shush, shush; Shush, shush, shush. The mommy on the bus says Shush, shush, shush all through the town."

Children were far more agreeable, unsoiled. They offered love without sinful baggage; lust and desire destroys true love.

More importantly, children could be controlled, and easily bent to her will. None of the children in her class would dare disappoint her for fear of being placed on her naughty list.

The sound of the school bell interrupted the ensemble.

The teacher's eyes flicked to the clock before she clapped her hands together. "My children, it's time for lunch. Please line up by the door – quietly."

In the empty classroom, and still humming the children's song, Miss Hinkley opened a Tupperware container to reveal eight, neatly wrapped, cucumber sandwiches. The slices of white bread had been cut into four, and the crusts had been carefully removed. She hesitated whilst contemplating which sandwich would be her first victim. After making her choice she reached into her bag and retrieved a large, very old, very worn, leather-bound hard-backed book. Anna Karenina; a story she'd read a good few hundred times before, and planned to read a few hundred times more.

Janice Hinkley would, in her own words, describe herself as a dedicated spinster by choice. . .