I imagined a girl playing the piano and wrote about it. I wrote about the sweet melodies that echoed across the vast expanse of the room. But alas, it still hasn't inspired me to write something earth-shattering. I then went to the track and thought about maybe writing a story about a race. As a runner, I could understand the pain. I know the feeling of anxiety at the starting line and your heart racing. I felt more connected to it, but I still didn't feel anything interesting, something worth sharing with people. The last place I went was the pond behind the school. I sat there for a while. I looked at the pond and the ducks gliding across its smooth surface. I looked and saw purple flowers and saw the petals of one catch in the wind and land on the pond and slowly begin to flow. Then it hit me. I have my inspiration. I began writing frantically, scratching out words and replacing them, letting the lyrical words flow from my mind into the notebook using my pen as a guide to transcribe my thoughts. When I finished, I was in a calm and satisfying reverie. I went home and that evening I rewrote the article, this time polishing it to perfection and once I read it a few times I typed it up and printed it.