The girl always knew she would be great. As a small child, she would spend hours alone, playing in the woods by herself and listening to what the silence of the air told her. She would look in the mirror and regard herself with an intense scrutiny that had nothing to do with the way she looked; as though she was measuring a force dormant inside her, one that only she could see. That thing within her was always waiting to bloom, and eventually she found herself acting as though it already had. She found herself becoming proud of what she would do, even before she could show others that it was to be so.
The years passed, and everyone who knew her just kept holding their breath. "Someday," they said, "she is going to do something magnificent, and we will be able to say that we knew her." Because even they could see the untapped greatness that had yet to reach fruition. They expected it would be any day now. Suddenly and unexpectedly, around the corner it would spring like Franklin's bolt of lightening or Newton's apple. Everywhere the girl went, there was this pregnant silence. Whenever someone would ask her how she was, she felt that her response was not the one they had expected. "How could someone so brilliant, so fated for glory, be content to settle for an average day?" they wondered. It must be a trick, they eventually decided. One meant to disguise the real goings on behind doors, the secret projects and the earth-changing thoughts that were soon to reach the light and be shown to all the world. But again, there was nothing.
Another average, unfruitful day came and went, and the girl realised that though the greatness was still there, it was getting smaller. After years of neglect, of reaching just a little less far than she could in every test, it began to disappear. The girl was frightened, because at that moment she understood that she had done nothing to be proud of. She had been content to know the greatness lay untapped within her, but that wasn't enough.
Each day, she would set for herself a new goal, one that would bring her closer to her ambitions, because she hadn't even realized until now how far they had strayed from her. But her new body was lazy, and her mind was slower than it had been. Over time, her complacency had become a poison, weakening her sense of self. Her ability to accomplish things and believe in the impossible. Soon, she started to doubt that the spark had even been there in the first place.
What if she had simply imaginined it, and through her own overconfidence had tricked others into believing that it was there? What if she really WAS meant to be just like everyone else?
The greatness, hearing itself doubted, became angry. How could you ignore me so!? it screamed into her head during the dark and quiet moments of the night. As she slept, she would remember the things it had told her to do, and she would try to awaken and do the bidding of greatness. But somehow, she never could revive herself quickly enough to remember. And so the greatness gave up, and slept.
This is how I feel when I have writers block. It big time blows.
