Command + 4. It’s time to write.
The cursor on the screen blinks accusingly as if urging me to write.
I stare at the blank, white screen on the monitor, and the screen stares back at me. My fingers rest on the keyboard, none of them making the first move. I stare and stare, trying to come up with adequate words for my brilliant spark of an idea. They are all there; the premise, the plot, the characters, everything. I only need to select words that can adequately express these ideas and mix them up in a delicate combination of harmonious words.
They say writing is similar to painting. No, in a sense, writing is painting. The difference between the two is the way one covers the paper. Careful, tender touches are needed to create a masterpiece in painting. The same goes for writing. Words are carefully chosen from the ocean of vocabulary, and with careful touches and thoughtful placing, the words come together in a delicate yet beautifully crafted sentence. Weave the sentences together as a painter might criss-cross his brushes across a canvas, softly yet firmly connecting the elements, and you get a piece of literature. Whether it is an essay, a novel, a poem, or even a fanfiction, it does not matter. They are all the same combination of words and punctuations, no matter the genre.
And yet here I am, unable to even start crafting sentences.
As I mentioned just now, I already have everything that I need. A premise for a story? Check. A plotline that serves as the backbone of the story? Check. A character that will develop and change throughout his journey in the story? Check. Computer? Check. Even with everything I need, however, I only ended up realizing that putting down the first words for a story is harder than I think.
I look at the numerous word processor files that are open in the background. Way too many times have I tried and failed to properly start a story. Most of my ideas got bogged down even before they made it off the storyboard. The ones that did take off ended up crashing into the ground several hundred words later.
I heave a sigh as I now gaze forlornly into the blank white screen. The cursor is still there, blinking accusingly at me. It keeps telling me to type, to write just one word. But I can’t. I can’t come up with the right words. I have an idea that is so grand, so bold, and yet I don’t even have the wits to come up with the right words for it.
I stretch as I chance a glance at the clock. 4:33 p.m. I’ve been at this for over two hours now. Two hours, spent by staring at a blank white screen nonstop. I shake my head as I rise from my chair and give my body a stretch, wincing as I hear my joints let out a chorus of cracks and pops.
I look outside the window, only to realize with a slight surprise that it’s raining heavily. It hadn’t been raining two hours ago, and now it is raining cats and dogs. I had been so immersed in trying to put down my thoughts into words that I didn’t even notice the rain starting to pour.
I solemnly look out the window before looking back at my laptop. I walk over to it and slam the lid shut, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere even if I continue to stare at the monitor.
I head over to the windowsill and climb up onto it, leaning my head against the cool window. The rain drums against the glass, the tapping sounds reverberating through my small empty bedroom. I gaze out into the misty outdoors, where everything looks hazy through the downpour raining upon them.
I return my gaze to my desk where I notice a book lying on the desk, a piece of post-it stuck between the pages where I left off previously. Having nothing to do and wanting to take my mind off of the unfinished writing waiting for me on my laptop, I pick up the book and open it to where I was reading. I hold the book in my hands as I lean my head against the windowsill, and begin to read.
I thunk my head against the window with a sigh as I put down the book on my lap. I’ve been trying to read for the past fifteen minutes, to get my mind off of that infernal story I have yet to start writing. But my mind refuses to let go of it while my eyes skim over the words printed out on the paper, not taking in an ounce of information from the pieces of dried ink.
I blankly stare outside the window again, out into the rainy landscape. The rain continues to slash against the window, filling the small bedroom with tapping sounds. My thoughts continue to return to the story and urge me to write down what I planned out. But I can’t. I know that when I return to my desk and open the laptop, I’ll end up just staring at a blank white screen for hours before going to bed.
But I can’t just sit here on the windowsill doing nothing, either. Suddenly, an idea enters my mind like a spark. I put the book down on my desk and climb down from the windowsill. I walk over to my desk and pull out my notebook and a pen. If I couldn’t write, I could at least draw.
I should mention that I like drawing; it is my favorite pastime next to coming up with story ideas and writing. Although I am not good at drawing animals, whether it be a pig, a bird, a pony, or a human, I am good at drawing landscapes, especially landscapes on worlds far and alien. I blame looking at too many artist’s depictions of exoplanets for that.
I put the notebook horizontally on my desk and click open the ballpoint pen. I steady the paper with one hand while holding the pen in the other. I put the pen down on the paper and swipe it horizontally, the tip leaving… nothing. Nothing happens. Confused, I press the pen down into the paper and scratch it back and forth. Nothing.
Frustration bubbling up in my throat, I slam the pen onto the desk, where it bounces off and skitters away into a corner. I begin to yell, “Why! Does! This! Have! To! Be! So! Hard!”, each word punctuated by a thunk from my head slamming into the notebook. I bang my head into the paper one last time before resting it there, letting out a low groan as I say, “Today is not my day….”
There is a knock on my door before a voice I’d recognize from anywhere calls my name. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” I shouted, my voice muffled from having my face stuck in my notebook.
I hear the shimmering of magic as the door creaks open. Hooves clacking on the wooden surface as she walks in. The click of the door closing. Feathers rustling as she opens her wing and drapes one of them over my back.
I let out another groan before I lift my head and look at the pony embracing me. A sea of purple comes into my view, two amethyst eyes gazing into mine. I sigh before putting my head back down on the notebook, now looking at her sideways. Always so caring for her friends, I muse to myself with a small smile. “I’m fine, Twi. Honest,” I croak as I put on an assuring smile.
She shakes her head, her ears drooping against her hair as she rubs my back. “No, something is clearly bothering you. Please, tell me what it is.” She is looking at me with a concerned expression, one that I know I can’t let it persist.
I let out another sigh. “Alright, I’ll tell you,” I say as I sit up in my chair. Immediately Twilight conjures a cushion next to mine and sits down on it. I look down at her for a moment before I stand up from the chair and sink to the floor. “You know what, I’ll just sit on the floor. I think it’ll be best if we talk eye to eye.”
As I settle down, leaning my back against the side of the desk, Twilight asks, “So what’s bothering you, exactly?”
“You know how I’ve been trying to write stories, right?” I ask. Twilight nods. “Well, I haven’t had much success with that so far. I came up with sixteen ideas for a potential story. Sixteen ideas that are waiting to be turned into words. So far, I've begun writing two of them, both of which got bogged down even before reaching five hundred words. For the past few weeks, I tried to find a way to get past this writer’s block. I came up with more story ideas. I tried taking breaks from those stories and taking my mind off of them. And now I was trying to start writing a new story based on one of my ideas.
“But the thing is, whenever I try to write, I end up getting stuck at the execution. I have everything. The prompt, the characters, the plot, they’re all there. The problem is the prose. Every time, I end up failing to find the right words that can bring my idea to life. They’re out there somewhere in that ocean of the English language, I know that, but I keep failing to find a single word. Even when I do find the right words, I end up erasing them, dissatisfied by the combination of words. Time and again I wrote several sentences, only to erase them a few minutes later and start all over. All because I couldn’t find the right combination of words.”
I thunk my head against the wood of the desk as I finish explaining my predicament, the hard wood cold against the back of my skull. I glance at Twilight, who’s looking back at me with a sympathetic expression. “So? What do you think?” I ask.
She sifts over to my side, sitting on her haunches while also leaning against the table and wrapping her wing around my waist before nuzzling my cheek. “I know what it feels like to have trouble with writing. Even I sometimes have issues like that. I’d be scribbling in a roll of parchment with my quill, inspiration burning in my mind, and a few minutes later I end up staring at the parchment, unable to decide how to continue.”
She pauses for a moment, before saying, “One day, I was staring at my parchment just like usual, trying to come up with words to continue writing. When I was about to throw my parchment and quill away in frustration, someone knocked on my door. I opened the door to see Rainbow Dash on her daily visit to the castle library.” She then lowers her voice and whispers, “She likes to read romance stories next to the Daring Do series if you didn’t know that. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
I laugh and make a zipping motion across my lips. “My lips are sealed, Twi.”
She smiles and nods her appreciation, then continues, “Anyways, she comes to the castle to do her daily reading with me, and she sees me getting all frustrated over my writing, and says, ‘Aw, come on Twi! Just go for it! You don’t have to be an egghead again and spend hours poring over a roll of parchment trying to come up with the perfect sentence!’ Of course, I said, ‘But that’s not how it works, Rainbow Dash! Every sentence is a work of art, a group of words carefully woven together! It’s not something I can write without putting much effort into it!’ In retrospect, what I said wasn’t wrong; I was only obsessed with getting it right on the first try.”
“What did she say, Twi?” I ask, curiosity taking over my mind.
“She laughed as she said, ‘That’s why you have a spare parchment, you egghead! So that you can rewrite as you reread what you wrote the first time!’” She smiles as the fond memories surface up from her mind.
She then turns to look at me in the eyes, a pair of purple staring into dark brown. Her smile is still there as she spoke. “So, I’d like you to tell you the same advice: write first. Write, and then edit, adding and erasing and replacing words as you go along. If you have such a hard time coming up with the right words, you can always use more basic vocabulary. Then you can use a thesaurus to look up words adequate for the story you’re aiming for. If you have trouble with that, then you can always ask for help. Whether that’d be me or an online editor or your family, there are always people that will be glad to help.”
“So, even if I don’t immediately come up with the words I am satisfied with…,” I trail off.
“Just write,” Twilight finishes. “You always have the ‘delete’ key at your disposal, you know. And also the other keys on your keyboard.”
I smile at her as I rise from the floor, dusting myself as I do so. “Thanks, Twilight. I think I’ll be able to continue writing now.”
She rises to her hooves, and I playfully tussle her mane. She giggles as she wriggles out my grasp and gives me a playful shove in the leg. She then turns to leave, but not before saying “Good luck.”
I smile as she walks towards the door. As she opens the door with her magic and leaves the room, I drag my chair out of the desk and slunk into it. A content smile is on my face as I peer down at the notebook before thunking my head into it. I continue to smile as I whisper, “Twi, you’re the best teacher there ever is.”
I take a deep breath as I close my eyes. I hold the breath for a few seconds, and then let it out. After resting my head like that for a few more seconds, and then I open my eyes—
I open my eyes. The familiar view of my room slowly comes into focus. I slowly get up from the desk, the notebook paper sticking to my face. I rub my eyes and stretch before looking at the clock. 5:56 p.m.
I look around my surroundings. It’s still raining outside, although it has lightened up considerably, the raindrops coming down in a faint drizzle. The book is still there, lying upside down with the page I’ve been reading down on the table. My laptop is still closed, the lighting on the charger indicating that it was fully charged. My notebook is still in front of me, although now it’s sticking to my face and soaked with drool. Yuck.
I tear the notebook off of my face and find a tissue to wipe the drool off. As I finish wiping my face off, I can’t help but think, so it was only a dream…. I let out a sigh as I tear out the wet pages from my notebook and crumple them up. I bunch up the crumpled papers with the wasted tissue and rise from my seat to dump them in the trash bin. As I step over to the side of the desk and empty my hands of the wet paper, my eyes spot something purple on the ground. Curious, I bend down and pick it up. I immediately recognize what it is.
A lavender feather, with soft, organized hair growing out from the central stem. I slowly run the tip of my finger around the edge, feeling each hair tickle my skin. A faint smile floats up to my face as I return to my seat, the warmth returning to my heart. I carefully place the feather next to my laptop as I open the lid.
Immediately the screen lights up, the white blank screen and the accusatory cursor staring at me once more. I smile as I put my fingers on the keyboard. I whisper three words before I begin typing:
“Thank you, Twilight.”
