Skip to main content

So it Begins....

 

A steaming hot cup of coffee sits at your desk, the smoke curling upward and fading into the air. A couple of notebooks are haphazardly thrown across the second shelf. You make a mental note to arrange them in a less messy manner while also acknowledging the fact that they will probably remain where they are for the next three weeks. You tap your fingers on your thigh, hoping against hope that the random movement will kickstart your brain. I mean, it worked before, right? you tell yourself, continuing the catchy rhythm. The empty word doc stares at you, mocking you and egging on your self-doubt. Are you even really a writer? Or were those genius pieces of fiction a stroke of luck that you will never be able to replicate again? You don’t know and you are scared to find out.

You sit up straight. The idea that had been lurking in the shadowy corners of your mind has finally come out of hiding. But before it leaves its mark on the word doc, it must fight its way through the dozens of doubts that are currently racing through your mind. “It’s too cliché”, a particularly vicious thought screeches, “no one's going to want to read it”. “But I want to write it” the part of your brain that’s still on your side responds meekly, “writing it will make me very happy.”

After 15 minutes of debating with yourself, you decide, “screw it, I’m going to write this.” Your hands hover over the keyboard for a minute before descending upon it furiously. Within minutes, the word count reads 100. You smile to yourself, maybe this isn’t hard. You squint at the screen; does it really take an hour for someone to bleed out? That can't be right. You open a new tab and type out your question on the one thing that will be there for you no matter what and will guide you through meeting your perfectionist standards, your best friend, Google.

You’ve got your answer, and it is time to go back to your word doc but something catches your eye. How long does it take for someone to die from poisoning? No one has ever pissed you off enough to consider googling that (though some have come pretty close) but you have got to admit you’re pretty curious. Against your better judgement you click on the link and the next thing you know, it is dark outside and your stomach tells you quite a bit of time has passed. Your coffee is cold, and you have twelve tabs open. You sigh, you’ve seen this film before and the ending sucks. You close your laptop and pick up your phone, trying to catch up on what everyone else is doing. Some people have gone vacationing, and some are settling into a new college and city. You’re pretty sure one of your classmates is in the running for a Nobel prize and you’re just… here. You shake your head. You will be an author someday. Your books will be talked about and discussed in book clubs. Your characters will have fandoms dedicated to them and you will finally be able to tell your stories to the world. But for now, you gather your laptop, your half empty coffee mug and your dreams and you go fold up yesterday’s laundry. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be a world-famous author but for now, you’re just a teenage girl who is way behind on her assignments.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pretty Is Pretty Enough

You’ve never considered yourself beautiful. Pretty maybe, if the lighting is just right and the angles are good, and your hair is being cooperative, and your clothes are falling on your body in a way that doesn’t make it obvious that you have never stepped foot inside a gym. It’s hard to consider yourself beautiful when your Instagram feed is filled with women who wake up looking like they’ve stepped off the page of a fashion magazine, and sometimes you wonder what you’d look like if you had the time, patience, money, and energy to present yourself so perfectly to the world. However, over the last year, you’ve noticed something unsettling. With more and more women speaking up about how much editing goes into a 30-second Instagram reel, your envy has changed into a distinct kind of sadness. Everyone’s not editing their flaws anymore; they’re editing themselves. They’re taking their perfectly normal human bodies and making them thinner, fairer, and spotless to fit a standard that was n...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Life You Build

Having a strong internal locus of control means believing events in your life are primarily the result of your own actions. It’s funny to think about how you didn’t even know what a locus of control was two months ago, and now it’s possibly one of the most important things in your life. You’ve had this image in your head for the longest time. You’re standing on the sidewalk on a crowded street with the wind blowing through your hair and the sound of traffic horns wreaking havoc on your eardrums, and you’re happy. Now, it’s a reality, and you’re not quite sure how you got here. You remember sending in the application and prepping for the exam. You don’t think you could ever forget that. The planners, the notes, the *cough* legally downloaded textbooks, the study techniques, the time blocks. You’d never studied this hard before and a part of you wondered whether this would even be worth it. After all, you were smart but you weren’t that smart, were you? Your fears were realised twent...
5 comments
Read more

Truth and fiction

When you were a little girl watching cartoons, you believed everything they told you. Everything will be okay if you just believe in yourself, you can fix anything with the power of love, and your personal favorite, just be yourself, nothing else matters. A few years later, you knew better. It was a story, like the adventures you read about and the mysteries you solved before the big reveal. Beautiful but fictional. Believing in yourself wasn’t going to make you prettier or more popular, your love was restricted to the things that didn’t have to love you back, and being yourself was the most excruciatingly painful feeling in the world. Life wasn’t like the movies, and you had no plan because you’d picked up a novel instead of a guidebook. Somehow you got through it simply because you had to. You couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, but your fear of the dark was enough to keep you moving and when you finally stumbled out of that tunnel with leaves in your hair, dirt on your ch...
Post a Comment
Read more