Give Me Something to Write!

Its late afternoon and Rebecca Yates is sitting behind her simple, pine desk staring at her antique typewriter, ten crumpled paper balls lay at her feet. She is dressed in a long sleeved, ankle length black dress and her hair is pulled up into a bonnet similar to what the Amish wear. She stretches and looks back at the blank page, willing it to fill up with words, and eventually a story about a woman, who like herself, chose to go against the grain and be differant.

She slowly began to type, thinking maybe if she typed slowly an idea would come to her. She had five words typed when someone knocked on the door of her office. She sighed and stood up, glad for the interruption. Her husband smiled warmly at her and kissed her cheek.

"Hey, sweetie," he greeted her, "Get anything done today?"

She sighed and shook her head, "No, not really. I thought I might write about my situation. You know, how God led me to wear dresses and head coverings?"

He nodded, "Yes, that would be an interesting story. What about that one about the teen age run away?"

"No, that one just didn't take off like I had hoped. For some reason Grace Livingston just had no life to her. What else can you think of?"

"Now you know this is your thing, not mine. If you feel you need to write then you need to write. I'm going to start dinner and leave you alone, but I'll come back later to check on you," he kissed her cheek again and headed back downstairs after closing the door to her office.

She sighed and looked out the window at the sun setting over the trees, the creek flowing down through the backyard, and then she saw it. It was a large black bear being chased by a hunter, that would be her story! It would take place in the mountains, she would describe everything the hunter did in pursuit of the bear and perhaps that story would write itself before she got writers’ block half way through and threw that one away like all of the others.

She began to type quickly, not worried about any mistakes she may possibly make, she could always go back and fix those later. No, this story had to be typed quickly, while the vision was still fresh in her mind.

After an hour of intense typing, her short story was complete and she was ready to proofread it and make corrections before sharing it with her husband. As she finished, she smiled, content with how well the story had turned out. She silently prayed her editor would appreciate it just as much, if not more than she did.