He was seated on the bench; pencil in hand, his notebook on his lap. He sat there quietly, his mind intensely focusing on the page of lined paper in front of him. He scribbled down word after word as quickly as possible, as if he would forget how to write if he stopped.
He was determined. Determined like nothing he had ever felt before. It was as if his writing had taken over his mind completely. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else took up any of the space in his brain. Only the writing did.
His mind had completely blacked out the scene around him. He knew that the sun was shining down, that the birds were chirping, that the water was flowing in the creek behind him. But none of that was a part of his experience. They didn’t exist. Only the notebook did.
His writing was almost complete. Only a few more words and he would be finished. And then everything would fall in place. All the pieces to the puzzle would come together allowing him to live in harmony. He was sure of it.
He continued to write, scribbling words on the page. Then he paused to gather his thoughts for a moment before continuing on.
The words flowed continuously, endlessly. It didn’t seem like there was an end in sight. They kept coming as if they had a life of their own.
Finally he ceased, his arm numb, his hand dull. There was nothing left. No thoughts. No words. It was complete.
He knew it wasn’t perfect but it was good. He was pleased with what he had accomplished.
Looking at his notebook, he knew he had a work of art, an aesthetic written beauty. Writing was what he was meant to do. He knew this. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else made sense to him.
He placed the pencil down, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only a matter of time before he would become a successful writer, a successful novelist. There was no other option, no other backup plan.
After a moment, he looked back to the notebook, back to the words of the page. The edit was complete. The second draft was done. Now all he had to do was send it back to his editor for more revisions, for more examinations. He wanted the quality to be perfect, as did the others who had helped him along the way.
It was only a matter of time. He sat back against the bench and relaxed. Now all that remained was patience. Patience for the success he knew he was about to achieve. It was going to be worth the wait.
