Katie’s English assignment was to write something using all of the following vocabulary words.
She was struggling with where to start. I told her to start in the middle. “I hate that advice,” she said.
It finally came together and she smiled as she wrote.
Halfway through, she called me over. “Mama, come read this,” she said. When she was done, she said, “You can post this if you want.”
I give you Katie.
Writer’s Block by Katie Wilson.Writing. Seems impossible when you think about it. Writing essays isn’t too bad, but stories are impossible..A plot coming right out of your head. Characters, dialogue, relationships, a setting, a place for the story to go. One person ought to have a lot of trouble doing that all in one sitting. Really, one person ought to have trouble doing that at all. And besides that, all of the good ideas are taken. Boy wizard who saves the world? Taken. Girl from a poor town who fights to the death with other children and starts a revolution? Taken. A young man and a young woman who fall in love despite the fact that the young woman doesn’t remotely like the young man to start with? Taken! Although I have a sense of reverence for the authors who used up all the good stories, I do feel quite livid with myself that I didn’t think of them first. Also with the authors for using them before I could. It is, in a word, unfair. Any other good ideas I have had, I’ve already used, and I take umbrage at myself for not having any more good ideas. As I sit here at my desk with my computer, trying desperately to conquer a horrible case of writer’s block, I feel as if I did something to provoke the gods of writing..Oh, Apollo, what have I ever done to you to curse me with this inability to write one stupid story? Why must you be so cold-hearted and ruthless?.My feeble attempts at writing a beautiful, wonderful story keep turning out cheesy and cliché. Write a bit, delete. Write a bit, delete. It’s like a horribly tedious game. Another idea comes to mind, and I write it down quickly before I forget..“The young girl’s eyes widened as she continued her passionate tirade about…”.About what, exactly, the world may never know, because of course, as always, I delete. I try to write, I honestly try, but literally nothing good comes to mind. I have written nothing. The clicking cursor is evil; it is mocking me. I feel the formidity of having nothing to present tomorrow in class, and I try with all my might to commence writing..Again, nothing..I try a new method: coming up with two characters and their relationship and writing around that. I murmur a quick prayer to Apollo, apologizing that I called him heartless..James and Jane. They are a married couple whose marriage is not going well. I write altercation after altercation, but none of them sound right. The words I have them say sound forced, the way they act is far too cheesy. I delete.I sit pensively, staring at my blank screen. Each time I try to start again, the characters are impassive, the words I write are uncouth. I try looking around my bedroom for inspiration. Looking at my ramshackle bookshelf just makes me angry that I can not write books like the ones on my shelf, so that one is out. My overflowing closet is no inspiration, either..Suddenly, an amazing idea comes to me. A story of a resilient young man who overcomes sickness and murder and more. This story would be the one. It would be perfect. It would be published and win awards. I am about to bring my fingers down to type ….My father steps into my room to say a succinct goodnight, and the idea is gone. Gee, thanks, Dad..I look at the clock on my wall. It’s one o’clock a.m. I am exhausted. I need sleep, but I still do not have a story. Finally, I acquiesce and write what I feel. As the words fill the page, a feeling of tranquility washes over me. The story is simple, easy. My fingers skim the keys as I type….
Writing. Seems impossible when you think about it. Writing essays isn’t too bad, but stories are impossible. A plot coming right out of your head. Characters, dialogue, relationships, a setting, a place for the story to go. One person ought to have a lot of trouble…