Be inspired, I command myself. Nothing happens. Be inspired, I demand again, this time louder in my mind. There is no inspiration. I close my eyes-trying to focus. I take deep breaths and put my pencil on the page, waiting for some amazing writer-ghost to possess my hand and write for me. But nothing possesses me, nothing writes for me. I have no ideas. I have no words, no thoughts.
Be inspired, I say again. Nothing. I look into the darkness of my closed eyes, searching for a hidden word or picture that might inspire me, I only find blobs of colored light against black. I wrap my fingers more tightly around the pencil and scrunch up my nose. Be inspired, I say, this time mumbling it aloud. When still nothing comes I push my pencil tip down onto the paper in frustration.
I open my eyes. Everyone around me is writing. They are inspired. They have ideas in their heads or maybe ghosts in their hands. I do not. I only have a dark jagged mark on a piece of paper and a broken pencil tip.
I glance at the clock on the wall. I tap my pencil warily, rubber eraser against wooden desk. Thump, thump, thump, to the rhythm of my heart. There are five minutes left and I am still waiting for inspiration. I am waiting for ideas, for thoughts, for words, just one word! But there are none. So I am forced to be inspired by not being inspired. I reach down into my book bag and grab a sharp pencil. I sigh and begin to write.
‘Be inspired, I command myself. Nothing happens. Be inspired, I demand again, this time louder in my mind. There is no inspiration.’
The bell rings. I look up and see the others bending over and grabbing their things, walking out the door. I stand and trudge to the front of the classroom. On the table there is a stack of essays, I put mine on the very top, it is titled ‘Be Inspired’.