Meg Dowell Writes

If you’re a writer, then you’ll understand everything I’m about to describe to you. If you’re not a writer, than I’m sorry. Everyone should write.

When I got home, I felt a strong urge to write. Just the sort of longing to create words of my own. I was tired of school; tired of being around people, mostly. So I sat down at my computer and opened a brand-new Word document. I cracked my knuckles and took a deep breath. As soon as I touched my fingers to the keyboard, I knew I was ready to give birth to a semi-sort of-could-be-masterpiece.

What I wrote was horrid. Words that wanted to make me throw up. Sentence structures that made me want to cry and humor that was so dry it was crumbling before my eyes.

So I started over.

I paced the width of my bedroom several times. I turned on some soothing music and sang along with it for a bit. And then, with bold determination, I looked my computer screen in the face and said, “Mind? Make words.” My fingers began jumping across the keys at a rate quicker than I had seen since my novel composing days (a month or so ago, perhaps?). When I had written half a page, I sat back and read.

This time, I did cry.

After that, I gave up. Clearly, if I was graced oh so beautifully with two miserably failed attempts in a row, whatever I was attempting to write wasn’t meant to be written. So I put my computer on sleep mode, opened my journal, and prepared to write a mass of frustration-filled pages. At least, I was prepared to do so until I found that I couldn’t even journal. Now, you know that something’s wrong when you can’t even write in your journal.

By this time, I was driving myself crazy. I wanted to know what was bugging me to the point where writing couldn’t have any hope of fixing it. So I began to pace again and prayed. I needed to know what was on my heart. I wanted so much to write. I had a sort of itch that wouldn’t go away. Ideas were getting lost inside my head, stumbling into places they didn’t belong.

It became so devastating that my brain shut down completely, as it often does when I find myself unable to write. I soon found myself folding laundry; eating dinner with my family; playing Wii Sports with my brother. The wheels were no longer turning inside my constantly overworking brain. Life as I knew it was slowly coming crashing down. If I didn’t fix the problem soon, there would be problems, and I knew it.

After I attempted to consume large amounts of chocolate in order to satisfy my aching (my heart, as well as my head for not processing any thoughts), I dragged myself back up the stairs and into my room. I shut and locked the door before I sat down at my computer and started to cry again. My thoughts needed a way to escape! I began to fear that my head would explode. In fact, it came pretty close to it.

Until it happened.

I was doodling on my spanish homework, staring at the three-fourths-complete worksheet with a glare that could burn a hole right through it, when I suddenly looked up. Suddenly, I wanted to scream. As if it had been waiting for the perfect moment to appear out of nowhere, there it was! An idea was sitting at my feet, wagging its prettly little tail. I tossed my homework aside (sorry, Seňor!) and went straight to writing.

To my delight, the puppy of an idea unfolded into a creation I myself stared blankly at for a moment. I wasn’t sure if I could manage to pull it off at first. I’m not a bestselling author! I can’t take an experience and twist it around to mess with my readers’ minds! Well, at least, that was what I thought.

The idea that came to me became the highlight of my day. Not even the retelling of my bad de-skirting experience at my choir festival-ish concert the night before could ever compare to this. I typed the words that came to mind and sat back. And when I did, only one thought flashed across my mind.

Never give up on your ideas. They’ll jump on you when you least expect them to.