Maybe One Day

Kat never liked the snow. She never liked the way it made her cold and wet, or the way it would cause her makeup to run as it flew into her face. She never enjoyed snow men or sliding or even winter for a matter of fact. She never really even enjoyed snow ball fights, unless it it was her throwing them.

So, she spent her boring Sunday inside. Not that it would have been a wise idea to go out anyways. The snow was blowing so fast and so hard across the street it looked like a brick wall was headed thier way. She preferred to spend the day in her pajamas, with no makeup on, lounging around and studying for her exams.

She would have spent it writing, had there not been one little insignificant problem. She had writer's block, yet again. It just seemed that all the words coming into her mind were not good enough, like she had to outdo everything she had done so far in each and every new post. Sometimes she could go weeks without writing anything at all, sometimes only a day or two. But the times that she wasn't writing were the worst times of all.

Maybe for some people writing was just something to do. When listing their hobbies and interests, would they put it down as one? When asked what they desired to be when they grew up, they would not state, "A writer." But to her, it was everything. The one thing that meant more then the publishing companies calling and offering book deals was coming onto her website and seeing the comments left about her work.

This was the one, and maybe for the time being, only way she could reach out to people with her work, and she intended to make every piece inspiring. To send shivers up someone's spine was her desire, to have them want to hear more was what she lived for.

Maybe one day they would realise, when they walked into a bookstore and saw the stack of fresh-off-the-press novels with her name all over them, that this wasn't just her dream. It was the only thing that she intended to see to in her life.

Maybe one day she could look back on her writing from years past and see how much she had improved, but for now it was so tedious, so pain-staking. Yes, the words came to her, the same way they come to everyone. But it was up to her to decifer them, to group them in the right formations, to add to them the meaning in which the people desired.

It was up to her to make her words heard. And if there was one thing she had ever been set on in her existence, this was it now.