My hand felt heavy. I rubbed them quickly, getting rid of the excruciating pain that lasted for a minute. I rubbed my forehead, sweat following my hand. The sweat glistened off the hand and trickled down. I heard a small patter on the floor. That was my sweat falling. I never knew I had such good hearing.
My eyes were red. I had been staring into my iPad for five hours straight, looking for inspiration. Where is inspiration!? I thought if I waited long enough it will come but none. No inspiration came to me.
That is why I am writing this diary. At least, if I am not figuring out a story, I can at least write. That’s something, right?
I sigh. Something… Huh! More like nothing. I never thought that writers’ block can be so frustrating. No wonder some died because of it. Anyways, for my new diary, I better introduce myself first. Isn’t that what most people do when they first write diaries?
So, my name is John Slater and I am a 26 year old unemployed economics college graduate who has no girlfriend and lives with his mother. That summed it up nicely. As you can see, I am a total loser. But I hope that’s not going to be for long. As soon as I can finish my novel, I can set up to be one of the most famous writers in the world. At least, that’s what I plan to do.
Thinking back, I have always liked writing. That’s why I was the best in my class. When it came to presentations and home works involving writing, I would be the best becaue that’s what I was good at. Writing. I probably picked up this knack of writing when I wanted to impress this girl when I was in fifth grade. She was a pretty one. Her name was Samantha.
Till this day, I still remember Samantha. Her face, her cheery personality and that brilliant smile. My knees shake every time she smiles. Her smile was the smile of an angel. My knees literally melt when she smiles. That was how great and warm her smile was.
Anyways, she liked to read, a lot. I remember her telling me she borrowed 30 books from the library and she read it all on one week. No kidding. And these were not just some Alice in Wonderland or Narnia books. These were thick books for adults. I still remember her showing me a Sidney Sheldon book she had read when we were in 7th grade. And in the 7th grade as well, she had already finished J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. I’m 26 right now and I still can’t read after Fellowship of the Rings.
From the day I fell on love with her, I vowed to be a writer. To be the best writer that is. I never did tell my feelings to Samantha though. I did let her read some of my choppy stories about adventures in times and that always made her laugh. Always. I wonder if she was laughing at the bad quality of writing, rather than the story. I’d never know though because when we moved to high school, she moved. Relocated. Dissapeared. I have such a high vocabulary because of her and she was gone.
I rued my decision of not disclosing my feeling to her. Not telling here I loved her. But what could I have done? Nothing, apparantly. I never got a whiff of her after that. I stopped writing after that. That is, until today. Today, I want to write again. This burning desire has been rekindled. You want to know why, diary? Well, you gotta wait because right now, I want to sleep. I can’t stand it anymore. My eyes are burning. Night.