Julia Parker, of West Maloney Avenue, sat on a bench in front of the music store she loved to visit. She couldn’t begin to describe what the feel of today was, even though she was trying so hard to:

It’s becoming colder everyday, but for some reason today is the coldest. There’s this ominous chill about, but it seems to not affect those around me. This chill is like a cloud, hanging over my head, and my head only. I can’t think of a reason that it would be so cold, so dark and desperate…

Julia had written those words, then crossed them out. “How the hell can I write something when I have writer’s block?” Julia moaned, leaning her head back against the cold glass window of the music store. Julia’s hand was resting on top of her notebook, filled with lost ideas and new beginnings, great endings…All without the rest of the story.
Julia knew that she had to write something and soon. That was her job as an author. But so far, nothing was coming to Julia. Julia had already written three books; one about high school drama, one about dealing with being different/an outcast, and her last one was about how to deal with death. Now Julia was trying to write something that could make her famous like J.K Rowling or Steven King.
Julia sighed again and sat up, looking at the parking lot in front of her. Julia could see stories unfolding before her eyes, but she thought that none of them could make the story that she wanted, needed, for her to write. Julia’s dark red pen sat neatly off to the side of her, mocking her. “Damn it!” Julia shouted, getting up, grabbing her pen and notebook and walking into the music store.
One of Julia’s best friends, Halie, was standing behind the counter reading through a magazine. “You know, you keep shouting like that and you’ll have to stop loitering in front of the store.” Halie mumbled as Julia walked up to her.
“Halie, I need help though. I can’t think of a damn thing to write.” Julia said, becoming depressed.
“What do you want to write about?” Halie asked.
“I don’t know. Something that deals with everyday life, and what comes out of it. What people don’t realize that you can get from it.” Julia said, glumly.
“Insperata.” Halie said.
“Insperata? What’s that?” Julia asked.
“Insperata is what ever you want it to be. A muse sort of.” Halie replied.
“So insperata is just a word?” Julia asked.
“Is what you write just words? No. Insperata has a meaning. It’s up to you to find out what it is.” Halie replied, grabbing her magazine and walking away.
“Since when did you become philosophical like that Halie? I mean, the last time I talked to you, you were saying the words ‘like’ and ‘totally’ after every sentence.” Julia said, fallowing Halie.
“Yes, but it’s also been about a year since you talked to me, correct?” Halie asked, turning over her shoulder to look at Julia.
“Yes, I believe that is about right.” Julia replied.
“Well then, you really can’t expect me to stay the same for a whole year, now can you?” Halie asked.
“I don’t believe I can.” Julia mumbled, opening her note book.
“Did insperata come to you?” Halie asked.
“I don’t believe so.” Julia replied, walking away and over to the pianos.

Insperata? What does that mean? Truthfully, I can’t think of anything that I would want a word like Insperata to mean. It sounds like some sort of alcoholic beverage or something of that nature. But, I don’t know. I can’t seem to think of anything that could hold my attention for more then three minutes of writing.
Maybe I could write about how today’s society has collapsed around it self…No. What if instead of doing realistic fiction I do something like actual fiction. I could like maybe write about how this girl always thought that people don’t get happy ending…Well, maybe.


((That's the beginning of a new story I'm writing))