Libraries during lunch hours. Or, “To a Future Writer”.
Of all the summer jobs I could have had, I chose the one where most of the people I see all day are all roughly three feet tall, run and dance blindly around the rooms and hallways, and speak in mostly incomplete sentences. I have learned not to bat an eyelash as these smallish people knock each other over trying to get from place to place. I am constantly reminding them to not hit their peers or to please, for Pete’s sake, NOT put gravel up their noses.
Yes, I knew about all these requirements before applying.
Where do I work, you ask?
That’s right ladies and gentlemen, my last summer before college is going to be spent teaching colors and letter sounds and how to get your shoes back on before Ms. Morgan sends you to the “Thinking Spot” again for taking them off during naptime. But that’s not all!
When I’m not working at the preschool, I’m tutoring elementary students.
I guess I’ve always been kind of a teacher. At least I think so anyway. Let me rephrase that. I try to teach in a way that reduces the general suckage of trying to remember information and focuses on the fun of expanding minds. Maybe that helps.
So today, while on my lunch break, I decided that it would be nice to visit the Cody Library. After all, it’s about ten minutes away from the preschool. That is, if you factor in my Subway stop, which took about six minutes. Which really only took that long because I had to a) decide what vegetables I wanted on my veggie lover’s sub and b) back out of my parking space extremely slowly out of fear of hitting an Explorer that was parked alarmingly close to my Tahoe.
I was glad I visited the library, because as I sipped my coke zero from my flimsy cardboard cup and hummed “No Diggity”, I searched through the children’s section and remembered how much I loved coming to the library as a child. Which made me remember what sparked my love for reading. And what ultimately, inspires me to write.
The fact is that words are tiny feelings all pushed inside two covers, waiting to be translated from person to person. You can make people hear your words all you want, but until you make people feel those words, there isn’t any point. And books, books are what make people feel words instead of hear them. And not just books either, it’s blog posts and journal entries. It’s newspapers and love notes for no reason. It’s the essence of another human being left for you to discover. (Though books are subjective to the reader, because what I am writing now might come across to you in a different way than I intend it because I am unable to know where you came from or where you are headed. So we may never all be reading the exact same thing, in terms of mindsets.)
Though if you’re reading this right now, you obviously are a reader. You probably read more than the average person. Actually, I don’t know that at all. You could be just some bored teenager who is surfing the internet because it’s summer and everything is pointless and happened across this post. I don’t judge.
But whether you’re an avid library attendee or an uninterested youth who is dimly reconsidering their life’s activities, I’m leaving you a challenge.
Don’t just take in the words of others, create them.
Write. Create. Make cool stuff. Contribute to the literacy band wagon.
If you need inspiration, google writing prompts, write about your feelings, write to hide, write to escape, write to run away. Write when you feel like it, write when you don’t. If you can’t work through something, write it down and use it as a stepping stone for your next story/poem/prose/blog post/lyrics/novel. Don’t argue with me! You CAN do it. One paragraph, one word, one letter at a time. Surround yourself with other people who create. Create what you love. Create what you hate and then edit mercilessly.
I’ll leave you with this quote.
“Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” -Pablo Picasso