To boldly go. To go confidently. To go with bravery. The words stuck in her mouth like a piece of gum and she couldn’t seem to figure them out. They built up and up until she exploded with frustration. Throwing her notebook on the ground, she curled up in a ball and blasted out her music.

Downstairs her parents raised their eyebrows at each other, but didn’t say anything. Cal had these mental blocks often and her parents had gotten used to the bellow of her music. Sometimes she wonders how people can just sit down and write. It takes her ages to come up with something good and even then she’s always sure it’s only mediocre.

Words flow onto paper in staccato for Cal, but every now and then, very, very rarely, the words burst out like bubbles popping inside her head.

Every now and then, very, very rarely Cal creates a masterpiece. A piece of writing that contains the perfect sequence of words and doesn’t stick to anyone’s mouth, but gushes out in a torrent of pure emotion. It’s all a complex play with words, her mother always says, you just have to find the ones that fit together. A very difficult jigsaw puzzle.

She tried again to form the story with those three key words ‘to boldly go’, but nothing comes. This always happens to Cal. As soon as she wants to write something zero ideas come to mind, but when she doesn’t have a pen or pencil nearby the ideas spring around her head like little kids on a bouncy castle. Yet still somehow manage to disappear when the time to write presents itself.

Teachers give out to Cal constantly for daydreaming and scribbling ideas on the corners of her notebooks. She can’t help it though; it’s hard to concentrate on physics or history when stories are always rushing through her head, and then disappearing, in a matter of seconds.

Her friends sometimes think she’s odd when she decides to stay at home instead of going out. She tries to make an excuse, but they see right through her. Cal may be able to make up stories but when it comes to real life she can’t seem to ‘make up’ a good lie. They’ve gotten used to her strange habits and weird moods, it always surprises Cal that they stick around at all. She knows she can be a bit of a handful. But who doesn’t have their flaws?

Someone smart once told Cal that you’re only as good a your very worst flaws. Makes everyone look pretty bad then, she’d replied. Still, she understood what they meant. How could anyone truly be themselves if the people they love couldn’t accept their faults and slight imperfections?

Her teacher once downgraded her for being too philosophical, is that even fair? In all honestly though, Cal took it as a compliment and accepted her grade with the same cheerfulness she had when she received a high grade. Sure grades were important, but Cal figures life isn’t about school grades, she prefers a compliment.
A few days later, she’s doing her math and suddenly an idea forms based off of her algebra homework. It’s brilliant. It’s genius. She scrabbles for a pen and lets the words ooze out of her. Ink seeps through the thin white paper, but that doesn’t stop her. Not even when the words have smudged to the point where they’re no longer legible. No, Cal furiously scribbles until the story is finished.

Anyone else would see a blurred mess of black, black ink and white, white paper, but Cal sees the potential. The possibilities. The probabilities. Bit by bit she dissects the story until it lies naked before her. And she realizes that subconsciously she’d written a story about a girl who was just like herself. Maybe, it was her. No one would ever know.

And the story began.

And so far it’s going quite well.

She’s enjoying her story.

Ten years from now maybe she’ll be an author, maybe not. Who knows? Not Cal. But she doesn’t seem to mind. She boldly goes and digs into the deepest corners of her mind to find the ideas. The inspiration. The story.

It’s all a play with words, you know, you just have to find the right ones.