My eyes remained blind with the fatigue of thinking; searching the deeper shafts of my brain for the perfect idea. Of course, I wait for the perfect smile on my lips when the thought takes control of my head like the smell of perfume. Alas, it never comes and I remain distraught with my inability to come up with a magical beginning.
My life had been inspired by the greater fiction writers of the time; Rowling and Tolkien held the ultimate power of fame in my world. Reading was my ultimate addiction, and the spectacle through which I could view the world in the most unique way. My thoughts don't expel the idea of the existence of wizardry or supernatural beings. Yet, my writing comes rare and when it does, it isn't amazing. Writing has remained my passion ever since I learned the art, but it remains futile since I search everywhere for the topic; the structure of my writing. Through trials, I have understood that it's fruitless to begin without having a plan.
It would be false to say that I haven't written before. I have two unedited, non grasping novellas that I could post online without cost, and my own book of self-composed poems that don't portray much depth or imagery. But, I continue to write; it remains my only semi-talent, needless to say that I don't posses any others.
Thus remained my thoughts for several hours in my boring summers and weekends. Most people say that you learn by having discussions with your parents. I didn't believe that until my bored conversation with my mother yesterday. I had been begging her to provide me with an interesting idea, and she replied with her usual response: "You have been asking me that since your childhood, and you always come up with something. Write about life." Not long ago, I dismissed her reply with no value, it gave me no concrete theme to weave my story. But yesterday, in my hopeless state, it clicked like nothing had ever did. It dawned to me that my life, my thoughts, my friends was unique. It dawned to me that the events I face couldn't resemble anyone else's. It dawned to me that the sun did rise every day, but not everyone noticed it like I did or described it as I did. And finally, it dawned to me that my life was longer that any novella if I took the effort to write it, as I do now.