Tulip's Cozy Tea

Sunlight streamed through a curtain-drawn window and danced teasingly upon the glass before trickling all the way in, illuminating the scene that lay inside.

The sun's rays lit up a simple desk of carved wood, sitting quietly in a corner of the study. Perched precariously on top was one of the biggest displays of mess possible. Sheets of blank paper were stacked not-so-neatly in various piles around the desk, and strewn across were multiple assorts of scattered pens and pencils, half of which were out of ink of missing the tip. All the pencils bore the suffering marks of a chewed-up eraser.

Even less neatly than the paper, books were dotted across the desk- one here, one there. Most of their titles had to do with writing and grammar.

But most of all, on the desk were remnants of writing. Some stray pieces of filled sheets with many scribbles and red crossing-outs could be found, but most had not survived. Countless pieces of ripped and scrunched up papers littered everywhere- you couldn't see the wood for them. The few glimpses of activity on them, managing to appear in view, could be seen attacked by red pencil too. There were even more crumpled-up papers on the desk then in the overflowing garbage can.

In front of the desk sat a comfortable, adjustable lounge chair. The chair held a young woman, her hair fiery red in the advancing sunlight. She had a pencil in her hand, and was writing vigorously on a miraculously blank piece of paper, on the only fortunate spot that was bare on the desk. Her brow furrowed, she was concentrating hard until-frustrated-she dropped her pencil, breaking the tip with a snap, and crumpled up her work, throwing it aside, where it joined the lonely ranks of crumpled-up despairs, never going to make it to the trash.

The woman let out an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes. Another failure. It didn't work. As usual. None of them ever went anywhere. They all started as an idea. But after a few chapters she was stuck. What could happen next?

"You're a failure, Jennifer," she muttered to herself angrily, then slumped her shoulders in self-submission. She was never going to write a book. Writing after writing was just going to keep replenishing the stock of crumpled-up paper, no matter how many times she tried.

Suddenly an idea flashed across her mind, quick as lightning. Jennifer caught the spark before it escaped her grasp, and, pulling a new sheet, yet again, towards her, she picked up a new pencil. But Jennifer hesitated before starting what was likely to be another disappointment. Why would this one work out? It was just like all the other ones. Why would this be different? Why should she even try?

But something made her change her mind. Somehow, she felt this one was different. Maybe it would work out. Without knowing why, she pushed away her doubts and poured the idea out onto the paper.