Take a page from the coloring book Village Charm and a page from Complete the Story, and what might I get? The idea to finish this prompt:
along with the page I colored:
Here’s a tale for anyone who wants to read where imagination took me while I colored today.
Pauline felt empty and full at the same time. She was mentally and physically exhausted, but her spirit buzzed with energy it hadn’t felt in a long time. Finally she was ready to open the bookstore–as soon as the clock on the city hall tower struck ten.
She sat on a bench across the street from Little Village Books and realized that technically, the store was open. At least the front door was. Memphis the cat sat in the doorway, pausing his grooming ritual to watch her. He’d been her constant companion the last few weeks, and she’d grown to appreciate the company. She could understand why Grandpa let Memphis stay when he’d first walked into the store as a stray.
She smiled and pulled a rumpled letter from the pocket of her denim jacket and began to read it, as she had many times before.
“Sweet Pauline, I’ve always wished one of my grandchildren would want the bookstore. For years, your grandmother was my partner. She was the reasonable one of us, always reminding me, ‘Richard, remember that store doesn’t own you. You own the store.’ When our only child, your mother, married your father and moved away, we almost sold Little Village Books. We didn’t. Then Jenny died. As a widower, I again considered selling out and moving close to your parents and their growing family. I didn’t. When Calico Jane died three years ago, I knew I was too old to get another cat and probably too old to continue running the store. Two buyers offered good deals, a surprise in an era of declining independent bookstores. I worried that the property was more appealing than a bookstore. I didn’t accept either offer.
Your mother and I had a long conversation about all of you. I told her what qualities I thought the store needed in an owner and manager: intelligence, a sense of humor, a love of books, people skills, and financial acumen. She told me that all of you love books and reading, but also: Ricky’s brilliant but completely lacking a sense of humor. Elaine’s loaded with personality but has filed bankruptcy for the second time. Barry has people skills, but his sense of humor skews toward daredevil antics and frequent trips to the emergency room. ‘But Pauline,’ she said, ‘is smart, has a sense of humor, does great with people, and has burned out from pouring herself heart and soul into teaching. Little Village Books would be in capable hands with her, but I can’t imagine her leaving her students.’
I assume if you’re reading this letter, maybe you’re considering a career change. The shop is in the black and won’t be a financial burden to you. In addition, I sold the house and have lived in the apartment above the store for the last couple of years, where you could live. The money from the house sale would come to you with the store. The town’s small, the property taxes are manageable with the apartment and shop bundled together, and when Memphis walked in the front door last year, I somehow knew a future was going to work out for him, me, and a new owner. The cat was good luck. He can be good luck for you, too.
In the large locked drawer of my desk in the apartment, I’ve compiled years of stories about the store, its customers, and the townspeople. It’s a big advantage to know your customers’ tastes, but also who you can count on and who to be wary of. It’s not a perfect town. It’s a real one. Consider those journals the kind of education you got while earning your teaching degree.
Before I close, I advise that if you decide to take the store, even before it opens, do one outrageous thing to communicate to the world, or at least to one little village, there’s a new bookseller in town. After that, I hope, like me, you have the adventure of a lifetime in a store that you own–but honestly, it will own you, too.
Much love,
Grandpa
Pauline returned the letter to her pocket and looked again at Little Village Books. When she’d first seen it, the store signs, the door, and the signs that went to the sidewalk for bargain books and to advertise events, had all been painted a dignified blue and gold. She’d refreshed some of those with new colors, particularly the front door, now bright pink and green. The plaster on the lower exterior wall was the same bright green. Yesterday, she’d heard a child say to her mother, “But I want to go in the melon door store!” She couldn’t hear the mother’s answer as they kept walking, but she knew from that moment, her “outrageous” choice of color had fulfilled Grandpa’s directive.
The “Melon Door” Book Store now officially belonged to her. Or to her and Memphis.
I haven’t done one of these for almost two years, and have only ever done three of them. NO, that is not the beginning of the story! Anyway, I’m not writing this story, you are. You don’t have to put it in my comments (though you certainly can, even just a teaser of it, so I can believe you might be having some fun with it). Write it in your journal, on the back of a piece of paper, in a sketchpad, anywhere you can find. 
Today is a Full Moon, which had me thinking how full moons are a time of completion, and that reminded me of this book. I first posted it back in March of last year and shared one of the writing prompts. I’m personally invested in what I’m writing now, and I get “prompts” from so many sources–a few I can recall off hand are a perfume bottle, a song (lots of these), an ornament, a recipe, a scrap of fabric, an old car–but I remember well what it’s like to feel blank and frustrated when I want to write.
