|
|
Post by JOHNATHAN GRAVES on Aug 2, 2010 12:10:30 GMT -5
Johnathan had been sitting behind his laptop all morning long. He had been writing since late last night. And now, it was mid morning, and he didn't even feel tired. He was on the verge of a very huge breakthrough in this particular plot line. And he was not going to stop writing until he figured out just what it was. You see, Johnathan did not wright with a story in mind. Rather, he started one and let it form as he went along. He found that things went smoother that way. If one dreamt up a story in one's mind, they would grow weary of writing it. Why would they have to write it? They would wonder. They had it all in their mind already. Johnathan could not settle for simply having a story in his mind. He needed physical pages of written word. Something he could share and pass on and leave as a legacy. And he was not going to ever get bored of a story halfway through. As such, his stories were just as surprising to him as they would be to others. He never knew what he was doing until it was done. And he liked to watch his characters form and grow with only a little help from his own imagination. His books and stories were like his children. He worked on them every waking moment. And he loved them a great deal. But he also worried that the world would not see them as he did. Due to this phobia, he had not yet brought himself to show a living soul his writing. And that silent fact saddened him from time to time. He wanted, one day, to be a great author, but it seemed to him that due to his insecurities, those dreams would have to wait quite some time.
With that thought, Johnathan's fingers stopped moving over the keyboard of his laptop, and he sighed. He was nothing. Nothing but a student with high hopes and big dreams. And he didn't have the guts to go any further with things. He stared blankly at the glowing screen for a moment before turning away from it. He couldn't work cooped up in this room anymore. He was starting to get stir crazy and feel down on his luck. He saved the document without even having to look at it and grabbed a notebook and pen. He threw a jacket on and marched out of his dorm room with a slightly sour expression painted on his face. Not even the sweet fresh air cheered him up. He would need to walk and clear his mind. It was the only thing that ever worked for him. And so, as he stood on the pavement steps that lead to the dorm building, he tried to decide which way he would go. Would he walk around the courtyard and enjoy the wonderful floral creations? Where people were likely to be? Or would he venture to the fields? Which would be sure to be deserted at this time in the morning? He thought for only a moment longer and then turned towards the field. He didn't want to be disturbed in his melancholy mood. He wanted to wallow in it until he was ready to let it go. That was one thing about Johnathan that not too many people seemed to understand. He liked being in bad moods. So long as he was the one who put himself in that bad mood. And even if the mood was brought on by someone else entirely, he always like to stew in it. Something about being angry invigorated him. And he liked the rush of adrenalin he got from it. It always left him feeling more creative in the end. And that was something he bloody well needed.
While walking, he felt the anger melting away. And in it's place, he seemed to feel the glimmer of hope and will. He would do what he needed to do to get where he wanted to be. This was his experimental stage. And one day he would be brave enough to show others his life's work. For now, he needed to get to the field so he could sit down and begin writing again. He picked up the pace and began to take in his surroundings for the first time since he began this particular walk. He enjoyed the school grounds, they were always kept neat and beautiful. They were an inspiration to him as well. And he was beginning to feel very uplifted. His walk always did the trick. He was happy for this. The field was before him now, but he didn't really look to see if there was anyone there. In fact, at the first sign of a bench, he contentedly plopped himself down on it and buried his face in his notebook. After another moment, his pen was moving furiously across the page. And he was lost to the world.
Word Count: 833
Tag: RAZ
|
|
