I was lying on my back, on my soft bed, listening to music. The words and beat were dancing in the air from my radio. I hummed the lyrics as I stared at my ceiling, feeling bored and well, lost. I didn’t have anything to write about, no original stories, no original ideas. Nothing.
My foot tapped - in the air, to the beat, my body quite literally enjoying the relaxation as well as the music being played. This interested me, so for a while, I sat there thinking about how my body reacted the sounds, rhythm and words that were playing in my room. I found myself zoning out and so, I steadied myself and studied the ceiling again, forcing my creative juices - if any were present, to start flowing and -for crying out loud- to start working and doing some good for myself.
Glaring now, I was murmuring to myself ″I am a writer, an author...″ on and on, repeating the words like a robot. I thought this would help in my inventing of a plot - it didn’t. I thought of my favorite novels and stories, shows too, and thought about the main points that they have in common. The main turn of events present in most, or the main details the characters have in all. I sat up as I thought an idea popped in my mind, but dropped back down onto my back when I realized that, no, it was nothing.
An hour went by and I still had nothing, and truthfully, I started to get annoyed.
Why couldn’t an idea pop in my mind? Why can’t I create worlds and plots like others? Why can’t I be imaginative? Creative? Original?
I focused my energy on happy ideas, happy thoughts and things that I love and like. I focused on the music of the birds. I focused on the whisper in the breeze, the knocking of my feet, the rhythm in the music. I focused on the lyrics in the song, the words in the chorus, verses too. I focused on the story behind those words and behind the singer’s emotion. The story behind the song playing -on repeat now- in my room, from my radio. It seemed lonely. It seemed lovely. It seemed like an interesting idea. I sat up quickly, too quickly, and started the song from the start again, putting the volume up. I started focusing on the words. I sang the words, I thought of the meanings and I even acted out certain actions that felt appropriate to the tone in the voice as the words continued with the beat. ″This is it!″ I shouted, finally understanding the words well enough to create a brief, yet well understood, plot for a book. I went through the idea in my head, adding on to it when I felt it was needed.
I ran to my laptop, grabbing it while still moving, and logged on as I scribbled the idea quickly on a scrap piece of paper, so as I don’t forget it. ″Just in case...″ I murmured under my breath, as I moved back to my laptop. I opened up my writing application, a new -blank- document and started jotting down the idea, as well as new ones to add on. I then started asking myself about the people, the characters, the setting, and of any possible plot twists. I wrote - in shorthand, quick notes on all of those ideas that popped in my head. I needed to get everything written down, I needed to make sure I wouldn’t forget this idea. I needed to get on with this writing as soon as I was done planning, and if I finish the planning soon, the writing can begin soon enough - as well.
The song was still on replay after around one and a half hours later. I was now quite tired, but I continued with my typing, planning and eventually, brief writing of the actual story. I stopped after realizing I didn't eat or drink much during the entire even that recently took place - all this excitement was distracting me from everything else, which made me feel uncomfortably guilty.
''Hmm,'' I murmured, looking around my empty room, which felt strangely eerie as it was dark, with music solemnly playing in the background. ''Okay then...'' I replied to myself, unsure of what to do next.
Do I save my story and go?
Do I leave my laptop on, and go?
Do I stay here and continue writing?
''Well,'' I said to myself, probably sounding insane. ''Guess I could take a break.''
I stood up, pushing my chair far, far, away from my desk and laptop. I rubbed my eyes, feeling my heavy eyelids as they fluttered open once again, when I was done. I sighed as I stood up, and walked out of my room and towards the kitchen, where a tin of ice-cream awaited my arrival.
''Oh, there you are.'' My mother's voice made me jump as I walked towards the fridge like a sleepy zombie. She sounded relieved to see me.
''Hi, what's wrong?'' I said, smiling tiredly. My mother hugged me as I walked towards her.
''Oh, nothing. Just missed you, that's all. What are you up to?''
I gave her a happy smile and exclaimed, ''I have an amazing idea for a book! I've been planning and writing the basics this entire time! It will be a bestseller, I swear!'' I started skipping around again, as if I wasn't tired a few moments ago.
My mother raised her eyebrows and smiled, ''That's good, just don't work yourself out so much, that you start disliking the idea - as well as the process of writing it. I'm sure it will be wonderful once it's done.''
I stopped skipping to process this, then nodded thoughtfully. ''I agree - good point.'' I thought silently, and guiltily, in my head, about how I was going to go back and continue writing once I ate something.
Oh well, I can continue tomorrow.
I smiled, and offered to my mother, ''Would you like some ice-cream?''
She smiled, ''Sure. I'll prepare a movie in the meantime.''
My body was filled with warmth, and I beamed back.