Thought Process

Then, at noon on a bright, hot Saturday in September, I sit at my desk with my laptop's screen glaring at me. On display was Google Docs, with a page that had nothing but my name and date, and the cursor, sitting impatiently on the next line, waiting for the story to unfold.

This always seemed to happen to me. I had one, solid good idea for a short story for the club meeting in German class, but instead of writing it down like I should have, I decided to wait until break, when I could do it freely. Of course, at break I couldn't remember; My ADHD had clouded my thoughts with tons of different other junk thoughts, like what was I going to have to eat later. This same thing was happening now, and I sat in my chair, staring at the cursor disappearing and reappearing, thinking of a plot.

"It needs to be something impressive," I think to myself, "Something that will make everyone in the club think that I was an undercover author, like J.K Rowling."

I start to think about the kinds of stories I could write. Maybe it could be about something in my personal history, like moving from San Fransisco to a quiet bubble-town named Yorba Linda, or adopting my dog and bringing him home, during of which he vomited in the back of my dad's GMC Yukon.

"Okay, maybe talking about vomit during a lunch club wouldn't be a good idea." I ponder. Letting out a depressed sigh, I start back at square one.

Speaking of my dog, he makes his way over to me from the hallway outside my room, and nuzzles my knee. I look down at the black Boxer named Babaloo, and I pet him back. His eyes seem to be saying to me, "Get off the magic box with pictures and pay attention to me."

I decide to take a small break, and go downstairs to grab a cola. I paced the floor, with

my dog trailing my heels, probably waiting for me to drop something for him to eat. A few more ideas came into my head. I could write about my future hopes rather than the past, like me getting a driver's license and getting my first car, those long times of constantly checking Carmax and seeing if my new favorite was still available, finally paying off as I drove onto the highway while listening to my phone through the stereo of the car.

"No," I thought to myself, "No one would understand my slightly obsessive passion for cars."

With a small stop at the pantry for some Doritos (I'm a very health-conscious eater as you can see), I made my way back up to my room. Other thoughts filled my body fell like a sack of beef into the leather chair. I remembered my writing playlist when I was doing the fanfiction with my friend who had moved away in early august. Pulling up YouTube on my phone, I figure maybe some music will start to help me think better. The first song was a rather weird choice for a writing playlist, but it helped me write adventurous and exciting scenes. It was an impossible remix of Pirates of the Caribbean, Curse of the Black Pearl Medley. I lean back in my chair as it starts to play.

A story starts to visualize in my head, like an old, static T.V starting to show clear images. I saw... an apocalyptic world, and a genetically made superhuman surviving the vast, empty, charred world on his own, meeting new people that they see try to start a government and survive the surroundings...

Okay, maybe a bit too long. I'll save that idea for Wattpad.

I skip to the next song, and a forgotten Disney song starts humming a sweet tune through my phone's speakers. It was "Barking at The Moon" by Jenny Lewis.

As the song continues, no clear visuals of stories come to mind. I do get a few smaller materialized ideas, like a family on a road trip, and a farm in Louisiana, but they turn to dust quickly, for no further plot arose with them. Finally, the song ended. I didn't even try to get up to change the song; Frustrated, I just hit the screen of my phone, hoping it would change the song. Luckily, it did.

The third song was another song from a Disney movie (I always use Disney songs, for they helped me create certain moods). From the movie Cars, James Taylor starts wistfully singing "Our Town".

A plot does start to form once the chorus starts. I picture a dog, who is suffering from an illness, and the owner, a little set of twins, boy and girl, trying to save him, but in the end.

"STOP!" I mentally chastise, "You want to make friends at this club meeting. There is no way that story will get you friends."

Out loud, I moan, and sit up to change the song. Except, when I go to do it, the playlist ends. Note to self: Add more than 3 songs to playlist.

I start thinking of different genres I could write about, and list them in my head.

"Romance, I need the story to be G-rated. Comedy, as much as I think they are, my jokes aren't funny. Adventure, too long for this book. Haunted Robots, that's just plagiarism. Werewolves."

I cringe at that last one.

Finally, I'm stumped for ideas. It has been an hour, and nothing has come. That same little cursor still waits, but my room is quiet, with no sound of fast tapping of the keyboard. Just when I get the idea to bang my head into my bedroom wall and see if that produces results, but then, an idea strikes me. One that is seems to have the worst story to it yet... but it also could have the best.

I type out the title, which is just two simple words that bear no meaning, just a phrase for a function people use nonchalantly everyday. However, these two words hold special meaning, as these words make the gears in my head start to spin furiously, and my hands follow suite, typing letters on my keyboard until sentences, then paragraphs start to take shape.

What is this story, you ask? All this time I had been wanting to make friends in this club, and not be the slightly socially awkward teenager i typically was. This story needed to tell people about me, and finally clue me in on what I wanted to do with my life. While not all of my questions were answered now, this story filled the job perfectly of me getting more friends.

Finally, I scrolled back to the top, and glance over the 3 page entry I had made. My mouth turned upward into a smile. All this time, the perfect story had been sitting in front of me- it almost seemed funny.

Before I shut off the computer, I took one more stare at the first sentence. Feelings swirled in my stomach, like excitement for the first meeting, and nervousness for having to say this out loud. Just as a bit of a test run, I said that same first sentence out loud:

"Then, at noon on a bright, hot Saturday in September, I sit at my desk with my laptop's screen glaring at me." I click, and then fold down my screen.