Work Text:
She stared at the screen then down at her hands, splayed atop her notebook, pens of all colours scattered around on the sides. Both pages, analog and digital, remained blank.
She sighed.
The screen on her phone heralded the approach of midnight and she still hadn't written down a single word.
She moved her fingers over to the keyboard and tried out a few words, a few phrases. Nope. She pressed on backspace until the garbage disappeared from sight.
She sighed deeper. It was time to ask Dr. Google for help.
A lot of the advice was frustratingly redundant, as expected. Get out of your head, suggested one article. Listen to music, play some games, advocated a blogger. If I can't write anything, I just get on my PS, load up a game, wander around the map and do some quests until I feel ready to go back and take another crack at it.
She rolled her eyes. Music hadn't helped much and she didn't own any video games. The closest thing she had to a game was an unused puzzle game app on her phone that she only downloaded because it was free.
Think of something that inspires you. Another eye roll. If I could, I wouldn't be looking up help.
Use prompts!
Tried it. Helped a little, but I'm trying to write something long. Intricate.
Write some fanfiction instead.
As much as I love doing so, I'm trying to work on something original this time.
She blew out an exasperated breath loudly and clicked on another link.
Go for a drive.
The last one made her hmm to herself, thoughtful. It felt like it could work for her. She remembered how much she loved daydreaming in cars as a child. Looking out the window at the passing streetlights from the backseat, coming back late from a day out with her parents. Everything felt magical and possible back then.
Or the outings she took with a boyfriend in his truck over back woods and forest roads. The endless rows of trees, the smell of wet grass and the cleaner, crisp air of the countryside felt like an entirely different planet. It was like stepping into another world, like the ones in some of her favourite fantasy novels. Perhaps those authors took a lot of drives into forests too. It would make sense.
However, there was no more boyfriend and her parents were in an entirely different part of the country, both since a long time ago.
And there could be no drive because there was no car. And there was no car because she didn't drive.
She frowned at herself. I really ought to learn.
She felt embarrassment creep up her ears as heat. The blank document on the screen and the empty page of her notebook continued to mock her. She typed in more questions in the search bar, holding out hope for better help and more answers but her brain seemed settled on a drive, on taking a trip somewhere, anywhere but here. She ran her hands through her hair in frustration, wishing she could get behind the wheel of something and run away from herself.
If only she could...
If she could, she would jump in, start the engine and take off some long road into the mountains. On some lonely highway that climbs subtly, until you're looking out the window and seeing the tops of pine trees, hiding the shaved cliffs below. Though she preferred the sky at night, she'd go during the day, so the sunset would catch her on a long stretch of road, perhaps this time over desert roads, red dust kicking in the back, mixing with the orange hues of the dying day.
There would be no plan, no destination; just endless cruising across the horizon, searching for nothing, looking at everything. On the radio, David Gahan's voice would crone on smoothly, lulling her into a waking dream as he tells her softly to dream on, dream on...
At some point, she'd reach a lookout. It's midnight now, and the entire galaxy is out. She's sitting on the hood of the car, warmed by the resting engine and her thick woolen sweater and she's so high up she can see her own breath in the cold, thin air. Yet, the sight above robs her of it. Some deity tripped and spilled a bag full of diamonds, billions of them, scattered across the infinitude above. The scintillating stars are the ones watching her instead.
She then goes over an old regret. I should have been an astrophysicist, she laments under her floating breath.
At the centre of the milky way there is a supermassive black hole that will one day devour the entire galaxy. Tonight however, it's invisible and irrelevant and only the long, white shiny river that twinkles above her matters. In the minuscule instant it takes for her eyes to blink, ageless stars have died and new ones have been born.
Writing is the same; birthing new universes in a momentous flash. Somewhere to live the unlived life; to be a multitude of other selves whose voices want to be heard.
Who do I want to be tonight? She asks herself. I wonder what that astrophysicist would do, if she were here... why would she come here...
She began to answer that question on her phone, writing down a few notes and ideas in the notes app. By the time she felt her fingers numbing from so much typing and felt the need to stop, dawn was breaking, sunlight hitting her eyes, softened by the sheer curtains framing her window. Her computer was right where she had left it, though it had long gone to sleep. Her notebook and pens were scattered all over the desk in the exact same arrangement since she last saw them. Her back hurt, as well as her butt. She realised she'd been sitting at her desk for over four hours straight, writing.
She smiled at herself, ignoring the wooden feeling in her limbs. She had the seed of a new story in her hands and that’s all that mattered. All that was needed now was to plant it and begin to water it, but that could wait. Her bed called to her, her body begged her to heed the call. She went to sleep without worry swimming in her mind, now that she knew that if she needed it, she could always just go for a drive.
--.