Museless

Writing is a way of expressing myself.  When words do not suffice, very often I turn to pen and paper (or keys) to write of my feelings.  Thoughts somehow seem to flow more smoothly when they're coming from my fingertips instead of my mouth.  Besides, I love writing.  Particularly writings of my own creation.  But to me, they are not purely my own creation.  The story is merely there, all I need to do is record what I see unfolding.  I love losing myself deep within the world I create, meeting the characters and getting to know them.  Some people "create" their characters.  I say that I "discover" them.  My characters are already there, I merely have to find them.  It is quite an exciting process, but a long and sometimes arduous one.  For that reason, I look forward to and also dread the time when I need to create a new character.

Currently, I am in the process of redoing a story that I wrote several years ago.  It has a good concept, yet it is simple.  It is written the way an eleven-year-old wrote, uncomplicated and predictable.  The characters have not been fully discovered.  So I have taken up the burden of author yet again.  My goal is to complete the refinished story by next summer.

But right now I am in the lurch.  I am museless.*  My creative genius has vanished.  The story has continued but it has left me behind.  I have been trying to jumpstart my creative thought process by reading several RPGs** that I'm currently involved in in the hopes of becoming inspired again.  Instead of the mighty ROAR of my imagination leaping back to life, it has began coming to life with a slow put-put-put.

I hope my muse comes back.  Now.

*Muse: poetic inspiration (Webster's Online Dictionary)

**RPG: role-playing game---one player writes as one character and another player writes as another character. (Webster's Online Dictionary)

Being 16 Is Sweet Indeed

My birthday has come and gone, and with it a whole array of feelings.

The day was relatively uneventful for me.  I will not deny that for the first three-quarters of my special day I was downright blue.  Sure, I had had my special breakfast (crepes with jam and cream cheese) and I got to relax and read, but it didn't feel right.  It was my birthday.  Moreover, it was my 16th birthday.  Something was supposed to happen.  My grandparents were coming, but that wasn't it.  Wasn't this called "sweet 16"?  Shouldn't something happen?

I was caught between different sides of thought.  Part of me didn't want anything to happen.  I didn't really want the day to be notable.  I wanted to putter around, do my own thing, stay at home, relax and enjoy myself.  The other part was in agonized anticipation.  I wanted something to happen but I didn't know what.  I wanted to go someplace but I didn't know where.  I wanted people over but I didn't know who.  It was a dilemma.

I went to the pool, as always, still gloomy.  I'm afraid I wasn't very good company to all my friends.  I wasn't able to focus on what they were saying, and I found myself being slightly irritated when all of them seemed so happy.  

I had only been swimming twenty minutes when my mom came to get me out early.  

"Why?" I asked, pulling myself out of the pool.  I really was too melancholy to care about her answer anyway.  My 16th birthday was here and it was dud.

She drove me to the nearby Lake.  She parked and turned to me.  Taking out a letter that had been hidden underneath the console, she read to me about how my walk of life was beginning and how today I would complete it (metaphorically).  With that, she kicked me out of the van and told me to start walking.

I had only gone a little way when I saw my dad standing, piece of paper in hand.  I started smiling.  He, too, read me a letter of the hopes he had in store for me, as long with bits of wisdom that he felt he could share.  After, he told me to keep walking.

As I made my way around the Lake, I met with eight adults who have been very influential in my life over the past few years.  I listened as they read me their letters and imparted the wisdom that they felt I would need in the coming years.  As I went on, I gathered many missives in one hand and many balloons in the other (each person gave me two balloons).

The last two were probably the hardest for me emotionally.  (Yes, I will admit to shedding a few tears.)  They were my two coaches, who I have known for the past four years.  The letters they gave me were full of encouragement, inspiration, and knowledge.  I felt so blessed and loved.

While I was still drying my eyes, I became aware of a surge of people swarming towards me with camera lenses flashing.  I barely had time to take refuge behind the balloons (before an embarrassment, now a blessing) as my friends piled around me.  There were friends from swimming, school, and even old friends who I haven't seen in years.  It was a fantastic surprise!  I never felt so surprised or loved.

It definitely was a sweet birthday.