In•spire

On the table lays a black notebook. She has no idea how it has made its way into her apartment, and quite frankly she is more than a little bit creeped out by the yellow sticky note that bears the words "Read Me" in red pen.

As she approaches, a million thoughts run through her head. Who was in her apartment? What does the notebook contain? Was this the beginning of some sort of crazy murder mystery/thriller, like the ones she loves to read in the dark by the light of her iPhone flashlight? There is only one way to find out: pick the book up and follow the note's simple instruction.

She runs her fingers over the faux leather cover and pulls back the elastic band. She notices immediately the impeccable block style writing that fills the inside pages. One after another she flips through them, but none of this is making any sense. This is not her writing, but it is her WRITING.

Elizabeth loves to write, or more accurately she LOVED to write. It was a passion for many years, something that she felt she was quite good at. She has gone through so many hard times in her life: her brother's suicide at a very young age, a life altering car accident, she had two alcoholic parents and a mentally abusive spouse. She battles anxiety and bipolar depression, but none of that mattered when she was writing. When Elizabeth put pen to paper, she felt free. There was a catharsis to the mere practice of it that seemed to make all her worries go away.

Elizabeth, at one time, spent a lot of time both reading and writing. But time after time she was made to feel as though she was useless. She was told that her writing, her reading, and even her life was worth nothing. Though she knew she was intelligent, she was called stupid enough times that she began to believe it. One day she tucked away her thumb drive and made the decision that writing was a colossal waste of time and she would never do it again. She would abandon her passion because someone told her she was not "good enough".

Through the passage of time, she divorced and struck out on her own. She would think about writing but was steadfast in her resolve not to go back on a decision she firmly felt was right. After all, who would read the garbage she wrote? Elizabeth decided that if there was something in her life that did not serve a purpose and led to results, she was no longer going to take part in it, no matter how profound the loss she felt whenever she thought about her next poem, prose, short story.

She flips to the back cover of the mysterious notebook, and in the same block style of writing is inscribed:

INSPIRE

in•spire

1. To simulate someone to do something; to encourage somebody to greater effort, enthusiasm or creativity.

2. To provoke particular feelings; to arouse a particular feeling in someone.

3. To cause creative activity; to stimulate somebody to do something, especially creative or artistic work.

A single tear floats down her cheek as she immediately realizes what is happening. Elizabeth has recently met someone, a very special someone. She mentioned offhand at dinner one evening that she was a writer. When he became intrigued and started asking questions, an overwhelming sadness enveloped her, and she quickly said she no longer wrote. He asked why and she promptly changed the subject.

Apparently, he had found some of her writing, and decided to transcribe it into this notebook. She smiles broadly as she sits down on her chaise and reads through each page as though she has never seen these works before. Her heart is filled with more gratitude and love than she thought was humanly possible.

She remembers that he had asked her once if she could do anything, what would it be? She had come up with some lame answer like skydiving or traveling abroad. It isn't that she would not like to do these things, but she has one dream: to be a published author.

She bolts up from her seat and opens her laptop. She enters a web search for literary contests and finds one that catches her eye. Elizabeth knows she is not going to win, but maybe, just maybe, this will get her to pursue her passion once again.

Finding the story she wants to enter, Elizabeth keys in the work and hits submit, breathing a sigh of relief. In that moment, she realizes she is not stupid, she is good enough, and the only limits she faces are the ones she imposes upon herself.

Several weeks go by, and much to even her own surprise, she finds herself writing on a regular basis. Sometimes it is just a few words that define her day, others it is a poem, dark in nature, that allows her to battle her demons. No matter the genre or tone, she is writing, and it is by far the biggest accomplishment of her life. Until...

She comes home from work, dead tired, and stops at the mailbox before making her way into the house. She drops the mail on the table, the same table that the book that changed her life sat on and collapses into one of its chairs. As she is about to put her head down for a few minutes, she notices an envelope on the top of the pile that bears the name of the organization she submitted her writing to. Now wide awake and full of anticipation and a bit of confusion, she tears open the envelope. Her heart skips a beat (or five) when she opens the letter and reads the first few words:

"Dear Elizabeth,

Thank you for entering our annual literary contest. We are pleased to inform you that your story was chosen to be the winner. Enclosed..."

She can hardly believe what she is reading. How is this happening?? Her submission was average at best. She flips to the next page and finds herself staring at a check for $20,000.00. Slack jawed and in stunned silence, she once again finds a single tear migrating down her cheek. She has done it. She is not only a published author, but she is a PAID published author.

Inspiration is an amazing thing.