by Six Feet Under The Stars
originally published at 12:14PM on Thursday, August 23, 2007

I sit, alone in my room, tapping my pen against the 5 ring notebook. Outside, through my window opened as wide as possible, i can hear the crickets singing lullabies to all those who can sleep. Lights from across the street cut through the darkness,eliminating the possibility of stars. The air smells like dew, a fresh day is coming. But I can think of nothing but that paper and that pen, and the scratching sound these 2 should be making, one of my favorite sounds in the world, because it means that I have an idea.
I have always wanted to write, stories of times long ago, or not yet to have happened. To have the ability to create a character, even a whole world, astounds me. But no matter how hard I think, or tap my pen, stare down at the pale page with its blue veins, no inspiration comes. Nothing. So I give up. I turn off the light, and hope that my dreams will bring some real inspiration at last.




  • from blueyedwonder:

    i know that feeling. great job describing it.

  • from Note In a Broken Bottle:

    i know that feeling all too well! I like how you described the lines of the paper as blue veins.

  • from Laine the Grey:

    Nice use of imageryand metaphors.

  • from Fuchsia Deviant:

    Oh wow, you are a really, really good writer. Anyone who can come up with such a story about not feeling inspired…that’s brilliant, lol.

  • from sour_cherries:

    i also like how u described the page’s lines as blue veins. great metaphors and amazing ficlet. i think it really speaks to all of us. and handwriting stories gives a different feeling that’s really cool. keep writing!