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Things I wrote on 1/5/09:
Motivation
She stared at the computer screen, waiting for the blank screen to magically fill with words. There was no one home, just an empty house and herself. All of the creaks and groans of the building around her, the clicking of her fingers on the keyboard. Alone. This was what she needed for inspiration to walk through the door and dive into her fingers while her mind danced around the thoughts, creating and warping each one. If that was what she needed, then how come, when she was sitting now, inspiration was taunting her like when a person holds food in front of a caged dog, right outside of the bars. This was cruel, she decided.
“Maybe I should read something to get my mind working…” she mused to herself, flipping into a book sitting idly next to her. After reading for about ten minutes, she threw said piece of literature back onto the desk with fury. Why wasn’t any of this working!? She was supposed to be writing with rich, intellectual speak, not just plain, simple sentences!
“I don’t even know what to write,” she groaned, hitting her head against the desk. It had to show her writing style, she remembered. It has to show who I am, have a good first-impression.
“Yea,” she snorted sarcastically to herself, “ ’Hi, my name is Kate and I like to write.’ What a joke. I have so many good ideas, and I cannot write a simple short story.” She tapped her fingers on the desk with impatience, getting angry with herself. She started humming a song and tapping her leg. She glanced at the clock.
“Five more minutes until Dad comes home…” she sighed. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her computer chair, rubbing her temples.
“I could write about a war... but that’s so morose and dreadful. I’m too happy to write like that right now.” Her eyebrows scrunched with frustration. “Maybe I could write about a small society… nah, already did that.” She shifted, seemingly uncomfortable in the cushioned chair. In her mind, it was abuzz with the desperation of finding an interesting topic. Her eyes shifted from side to side, until a blue-lined piece of notebook paper caught her eyes, writing scrawled all over it. Her eyes immediately brightened and her fingers danced on the keyboard, a small trace of a smile becoming noticeable on her pale face.
“Not too bad,” she murmured. The clicking and clacking of the keyboard under her hovering hands never stopping as she looked at the same paper she got her idea from.
The door opened and the paper flew onto her fingers that were still on the black board with letters. “I always did do well in Language Arts.” She laughed a bit down at the English paper she had written. She read over the first paragraph she had just written for her piece of literature:
A girl sitting in a large maple tree swung her legs, kicking one after the other. She chewed on an apple, her bright blue eyes dancing with amusement as she looked down at the boy below her. She smiled at him with feigned innocence. He sighed.
“C’mon, you KNOW I can’t get up there and you promised to teach me a warm-up routine!” She laughed at him.
“Just because I’m teaching you don’t mean I can’t take my time. Ya know, I never had time to be 13.”
He snorted, “I have no time to be 13! I wanna be an Olympic athlete!” She smirked down at him.
“Well then,” she motioned to the tree she sat in, “get climbing. This may be cruel for me to ask this of a crippled teen, but you requested it.” He grasped the tree’s lowest branch and started to pull himself up.
She shrugged. Motivation always DID come from the strangest places for her.
 Sin Avarice · Sat May 16, 2009 @ 02:27am · 0 Comments |
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