I’m always finding myself staring at a blank piece of lined paper, knowing what I want to write but not knowing how to go about writing it. I feel the words on the tip of my pen, I see them forming in my mind, curling and swaying, but no matter how hard I press myself to release them, they cease to escape. Maybe the words would be too powerful for any one person to read, maybe the message I am attempting to convey has no language strong enough for it … maybe I am not worthy to portray life. Whatever the case, I am stuck here, in this deep chasm, trying to break free, fly away, dig a tunnel, anything! to feel purpose.
Jordan sighed and released her grip on the pen. It rolled upwards, but allowing gravity to take over, swayed down the spiral notebook and fell into her lap. She picked it up and looked at it. Then she began writing again …
The murky water The dirt caused the water to become murky as Stan trudged through. Knee deep in sludge, he grimaced with every step, knowing that the muck was seeping into his wound, possibly infecting it. His black hair was disheveled, his eyes were bloodshot, but his mind was aimed and ready to fire. Suddenly the sound of gunfire reached his ears, causing Stan to halt in his tracks and pinpoint the location of the noise. Dogs began barking as a siren wailed. Stan knew he had little time.
Pulling her dirty blonde hair up, Jordan’s eyes scanned the words she had just created and grimaced. She let her hair fall around her face as she tapped the end of her pen against her lips. Once again she wrote …
Up and down, up and down; to and fro and to. Little Sarah pumped her legs, feeling the wind in her face, feeling the sun pour into her body, feeling utterly free and alive.
Her words suddenly began to go down a different route …
The airplane soars, as if suspended in the blue air. The world turns below, though nothing matters in this single moment. The wings of the small water plane turn, shooting the object into a perfect cloud. The sight inside the cockpit must be spectacular. It can be described as swimming through a marshmallow, or floating inside a bubble bath. The earth and its problems are no match for the inevitable happiness that carries the plane through the heavens.
Jordan set the writing instrument down and rubbed her temples. This was not going the way she wanted it to go. The path was just too narrow for her to pinpoint and tread on! Going back to her original thoughts, she continued …
What do I even want to accomplish with my writing? Do I want to make someone laugh? Cry? Smile? Do I want people to say how wonderful my work is? Do I want plastic compliments and paper cheers? My writing is special. Why would I pour my time, my energy, my heart into something that was simply chaff in the wind? I want my writing to leave an impression, to cause my reader to look at life in a new way; to find hope. I don’t want pure entertainment; I want life-changing magic. I want …
Jordan smiled.
I want to change the world.
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