Watch out

I woke up today. I had breakfast, had a shower, and brushed my teeth. I rushed out to the bus thinking I would be late, and ended up standing there for ten minutes feeling like an idiot. I should really get a new watch.
I got on the bus today. I sat in my favourite seat: farthest back on the left. Most people complain that the back of the bus is too bumpy. I like it. It helps me think. I pulled out my iPod and turned it to my favourite song. It's a slower kinda song, like the kind that makes you feel sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep on the bus today. I had a really good dream. I dreamt I was a little green pea bouncing in a frying pan amongst millions of other little green peas. Everyone of us peas was happy and giddy. Then someone turned the stove on. That's when I woke up. It was kind of a good thing: we pulled into the bus loop two minutes later. Make that three. I really need a new watch.
I went to my locker today. Upon opening it, I was greeted with the wonderful stench of old gym clothes. Gross. I grabbed a couple of oversized text books and stuffed them into an undersized backpack. I was about to leave for class, but looked at the time and found—to my surprise—I was a couple minutes early today. I got out my laptop and propped myself against the wall. It's about time I got to work some of my overdue projects.
I was late for my first class today. Wow, I really need to get a new watch, and I should probably keep that in mind so I don't keep using the piece of junk which currently occupies my wrist. I won't throw it out though; that would just be silly.
I sat down at my desk today. We were doing review for a test. I pulled out my iPod and turned on my favourite song. It's that slower kinda song. The one that makes you feel sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep in my first class today. I continued my dream about being a little green pea in a frying pan. The heat had been turned on by now, and every one of the bouncing little green peas was crying out in agony every time they hit the merciless metal surface of our frying pan home. For some reason I wasn't feeling the pain, and continued to bounce around happily. This went on for several minutes when a large wooden spoon came down and started tossing us about: “How rude.” I thought. Then I woke up. I looked at my watch: ten minutes left of class. I quickly got back to doing review and was just getting focused when the bell rang five minutes before I thought it would. Right. Watch.
I was almost late for my second class today. Luckily it's not too far from my first class, so I had no trouble. In fact the bell didn't ring until I sat down in my seat. Bonus. That is, until I find out all we're doing is working on a new project. I never even started the last one. So I turned on my iPod once again and started working on the last project. Even when I put my iPod on shuffle, my favourite song still managed to come on. You know, the slower kinda song that makes you feel really sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep in my second class today. I went back into frying pan land where there were burning peas and big wooden spoons. By now the wooden spoon had stopped batting everyone about and we seemed at peace: able to bounce about all we wanted again in our big metal frying pan. Then a spoon came. It started scooping us out one by one, placing us on pretty china plates. Then a fork came down. I awoke with a start: what a horrible dream. I looked at my watch: half an hour of class left.
I almost finished an overdue project in class today. I was just adding some finishing touches when I was interrupted—not saved—by the bell. I looked at my watch: “It's all your fault.” I muttered as I bustled to my locker to get some lunch. “Hey Benny boy!” I heard my name. I turned around to see my best friend Ryan running over holding car keys: “I got my new ride today man! Wanna go for a spin?” He has a huge grin on his face. “Sure.” I replied, “Why not?”
I drove my best friend's new car today. He even let me put my iPod on. I put on my favourite song. It's not much of a driving song, but it makes you feel sentimental and...tired. I was just starting to get back into my pea dream when I heard a faint, “Watch out!” Then something hit me—really hard.
I got in a car accident today. I woke up in the hospital about an hour later—actually it might have been a little sooner or later than that—I wasn't wearing my watch. My dad was standing over me with a concerned look on his old face: “You feeling okay son?” “Yea,” I replied, “do I look okay?” he laughed: “You'll be fine: just a few broken bones and some stitches is what the doctor's saying.”
“How's Ryan?”
“He's fine: didn't even break a bone. In fact, his car isn't even totalled or in that bad of a condition. He offered to buy you something as a get well soon present but he wants you to choose. Anything you have in mind?”
“Yea, a watch.”

The Voice of Reason

One of the most difficult and most frequently asked questions in the world is, ‘why?’. More specifically, ‘why write?’. And I say, indeed, why write? What is the reason? There is, of course, the motivation, for motivation and writing go hand in hand, but what is the reason to write? Some say that motivation and reason are one and the same but I beg to differ.

Motivation is inspiration and ideas. Motivation is the bird that flits past your window, or the blade of grass tilted slightly more the left than all the other blades of grass. Motivation is the buoy you see sitting alone on the bay: swaying back and forth in a sad sort of motion. Motivation is a comment you heard on the bus this morning. Motivation is a dream you had the other night. Motivation is someone being pulled over for speeding. Motivation is that one idea you have which becomes a seven hundred page novel, and later on an award-winning movie.

Now imagine you have just finished scribing that seven hundred page novel and days, months, perhaps even years have passed since the original motivation ebbed into your creative mind on a cool summer evening. You sit down in front of the hearth, happily, with a glass of scotch in your hand and a sweet cigar in your mouth. You contemplate on you just-finished novel. You do not yet know that it will be published and it will be an award-winning movie. For all you know you may have just wasted seven hundred perfectly good pieces of paper on something that is nothing more than the simple ramblings of an under-accomplished writer.

Why did you write this possible masterpiece? What was the reason for it? Obviously you wrote it because you had motivation and the idea needed to escape, but what now? Why did you put this down on paper? Moreover, why seven hundred pieces of paper? You could have simply let the idea rot in a journal or waste away on your voice recorder as a forgotten memo. But for some reason this one idea escaped the confines of your journal prison and elaborated itself on the seven hundred pages which sit upon your writer’s desk at this moment. This idea is a story of adventure and excitement, wile and wit, and betrayal. But what purpose does it serve? Why did you write it? It’s not even true.

I told you that, ‘why’ is one of the world’s hardest questions to answer.

And yet, the reason for writing is so simple. If you write, you have a talent, whether you are a, ‘good’ writer or not. You have the inspiration and the motivation to write, so do it. Even if one writes tales of lore and fantasy, there is always a lesson to be learned from the tale. I myself read many fantasy novels, and many a time have learned more life lessons in one reading then in a week of schooling. The purpose of writing is to inspire and bring joy to others. (However, if you really want to get technical, why do anything? You only die and leave everything behind anyway. Isn’t why such a tricky question?) Write to entertain. Make people cry, make children laugh, make old folks reminisce, and give people a reason to read. Do not write to create another dust collector or shelf filler. Use your inspiration to create inspiration.

Why write? Why not? You have nothing to lose.