A Writing Miracle

The sun was shining and the clouds were smiling the day I decided to become a writer. It just struck me so suddenly how easy writing is. What you just have to put one letter followed by another letter and another one, on and on, you make a word, and the string those words together, and there you go. Every writer I’d ever met or heard about was rich, famous, and sensual, and I aspired to be like them, to be admired, cherished, and beatified.

I decided the first step was obvious: I needed to pull up my pants, buckle up, and concentrate like never before and start writing… a text asking for transportation so I could go to the most prominent publishing house of the country.

I arrived and went directly to the boss and said, “It is time for you to listen to my pitch, for I have the itch, the itch of writing, writing so I can be ridin’, won’t you hear my plea?, I am asking you to do that for me, I will give you a book, you will give me the look, give me the money, I am your honey, I’ll find the right words to hunt, say no, I’ll call you a cu-“

“Enough, I’ve heard enough. Your rhyming is impeccable, your rappinging marvelous, and your writing superb. I am of course assuming this from your gallant figure and strong, big body and soft, curvy contours. You have a lickable forehead and are anosmatic. Anyone could see, that you are a writer through and through,” the publisher said and shook my trembling hand. I couldn’t believe it. I really couldn’t believe it. After 5 hours of pursuing my dream, I was about to enter the greatest endeavor in my life. My life-held dream was finally happening. “So, what kind of writing style do you have?”

“Oh, you know the stylish one.”

“And what kind of reading do you often do?”

“Read?”

“What is your favorite story?”

“Enough with the questions man. Is this a date or what? Just give me the money.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry for wasting your time,” he said and gave me the check. My first writing paycheck, I was so happy, I panted all the way to the bank. I deposited the check immediately and then withdrew the exact amount and then deposited it again, then withdrew, then deposited, then withdrew around twenty times just to feel that I was being paid twenty times to write.

I couldn’t really believe it. As I got home, I cried tears of joy. All of my efforts, my sacrifices, and drudgery had finally paid off.

“Just goes to show how wonderful it is that anyone, no matter their circumstances, can always make a path for themselves,” I said to my maid by the beach house. She murmured something that wasn’t important and I was finally left alone to enjoy the beauty of the ocean.

The next morning, it finally occurred to me that if I was to become the world’s greatest swimmer I should be spending more and more time in the sea. I left all of my earthly pleasure for 30 minutes every day so I could feel the seaweed in my feet, taste the seawater in my mouth, and touch the gleam of the sun with my hands. I lay on my back to get in touch with the ocean so it could also get in touch with me. We were as one, all together, always enjoying each other every day and every night. I snored my meditations and let myself be fed so I wouldn’t suffer any interruptions in my skill training sessions.

It was about 8 months later of dedicated swimming training, when my phone rang and I decided to answer. Who the hell would call me in such an important moment?

“…your publisher. How’s the writing going?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The book. Remember? The book about the beautiful, young woman who falls in love with some guy who really needs to get his act together. The woman is all mysterious, almost elusive, and the guy is a very interesting person, surely.”

“Oh, right,” I said and suddenly remembered of my long life dream of being a writer. “When was that deadline again?”

“Tomorrow, friend. I’ll expect it at 5.”

How cursed! The dream of being a writer was the nightmare, the nightmare of knowing that time, life, and obnoxious publishers will always force you to compromise and threaten you with awful and unfair deadlines.

“How uncreative! How asphyxiating! How am I supposed to be so good with all this pressure?” I said and cried myself in front of my screen because there was nothing. Just a blank page. I couldn’t think of a single thing to write. Why was I the only writer who ever suffered from this? I even thought of a name for it: the blocking of thoughts and ideas at the moment of the written.

“I am lost,” I told my maid who just kept saying stuff over and over again whenever I finished talking. “There is only one thing left to do. I have to trust in the writing fairies. You know them right? They come at night and write your things for you, and you just can enjoy a good night’s sleep. I don’t know if I can do that, though, this is all so stressful. My life! I tell you! You really need a clear head to be a writer!”

After that, my maid left the room sobbing about something, and I was left alone making several calls and putting several grams of money on the table. The blank page was taunting me but my writing and creative spirit wouldn’t let me be beaten!

The next morning, I woke up almost ready to admit defeat when I saw it: my manuscript was finished and my money was still there! I couldn’t believe it! I could have jumped for joy, and I did, like eleven times.

Next to the manuscript was a thank you note acknowledging the great writer I am: “We hope this pleases you! It is the best we could on such a short notice! Please, sir, please let her go! We miss her!”

“What kind words! Did you hear?” I said to the sad maid as I walked out of the room. “It is a Writing Miracle! Never let anyone tell you there’s nothing you can’t do!”

And naturally, I turned in the draft, it was edited again by the writing fairies, and it became a worldwide bestseller and renowned author across the 10 continents. My constant pursuit of becoming of the writer had become a reality!

“Life is good, sometimes. Sometimes, life is good,” I thought feeling myself very rich, famous, and sensual.