I have a confession to make: I don’t know what to write about.
“Write that down!” I tell myself.
“Something will eventually come to you if you do.”
Instead, I stare out the window.
I try to recall the story that just a few days ago was screaming to be told.
What was the topic anyway?
Why had I felt such urgency to write that story?
And, why can’t I remember it now?
I stifle a yawn and look around.
I stare out the window again.
My paper is blank.
My pencil is poised in the air.
I glance at the students in front of me.
Everybody is busy writing.
Everything feels trite and unimportant.
Then, I scribble it all down.
The bell rings.
I close my notebook.
another writing moment