Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Inspiration/Block (for the writer) (05/20/10)
TITLE: Something Unseen
By Theresa Santy
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ďYes,Ē I answer to the friend, or relative, or stranger, or dog, ďbut only because I canít help it,Ē I say. I claim that Iím forced by something unseen to cross the boundary from existing as a person who is not a writer, to existing as a person who is a writer.
Occasionally, the conversation leads to some sort of lecture on this intangible thing. When Iím rushed I give the simple answer, which is God, as I believe much of my writing is divinely encouraged. But when time is not an issue I explore the energy which causes a blank screen set before me, to transform into one filled with thousands of characters. I elaborate on that which motivates me to journey into the realm of writing.
I describe my wild imagination, and how I elevate the sport of people-watching to an advanced level. I assert that I donít simply observe a person, but instead I conjure a biography packed with action, suspense, and conflict. But my invented stories often fall short. Indeed, dozens of hours have evaporated while Iíve sat in front of a computer screen or sheet of paper, trying to finish a scene. With a sigh, I conclude that my creativity, left alone, is not sufficiently inspiring.
I talk about ancient trees standing firm, rushing streams ignoring obstacles, and wild herds roaming the Great Plains, all of which have the power to arouse thought and wonder. I ask, ďCan anyone breathe in the glory of nature without being overcome by the knowledge of an all-powerful God?Ē But even this, I announce, does not necessarily inspire me to create lengthy groupings of prose.
Then I try to explain that it is something else that pushes me toward uninhibited written expression, and causes thoughts to flow without stopping from my brain and onto a document: Itís being certain I know how something is going to end, and then watching God flip the story upside-down. Itís digesting the inconceivable perfection of an orchid, and knowing man has tried for over two hundred years to clone and improve it. Itís noticing my young daughter happily scarf donuts and pizza moments before shopping for a swimsuit, then listening to a tale of a woman fighting anorexia. Itís struggling to hold on through the storm of Godís will, searching for lost valuables, and then looking up to find a rainbow.
This leads to a confession that in the midst of tension between Godís plan and the human condition, I find inspiration. At the intersection of life and truth I find motivation, and an unstoppable power which moves my pen, and pushes me toward a place, where I can no longer keep the words locked inside, and then, because of my creationsópages upon pages of written creationsóI must call myself a writer.
Then the puzzled friend, or relative, or stranger or dog will usually shout or bark something random, in an attempt to change the conversation.
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