Musings on a Saturday Evening
I meant to write this weekend. I really did!
I am sitting before this blank virtual piece of paper wondering if I can possibly find enough words to fill it. Personally, I don’t think it can be done. It’s not that I’m all that pessimistic (well, okay, I am, but really that’s not the point) it’s just that very recent history has proven to me that in the battles of wits that plays out between writer and blank screen, the blank screen has the upper hand.
It has all the intimidation of an unblinking stare; a harsh, unrelenting challenge. “Go ahead,” it whispers. “Try and fill me. In fact,” it continues in its quiet mocking tones. “I want you to.”
You try to ignore it; that malicious, taunting screen, so you quickly change screens, find a comforting game where you mind can sit while your fingers pretend to type. That’s when you realize that the screen has managed something you thought impossible. It has taken your friend; your very best friend, the one who had seen you through many a lonely night, bringing you gifts of words and games and quiet conversation, all bathed in a soft electronic glow. The screen has taken your friend and made it its own. Now, no matter where you go with your friend, or what you do, the screen stands just in the distance, out of sight, perhaps, but, you know it’s there. You move from board to board looking for a lively conversation, but are suddenly aware of the fan girl/boy that rules each page. You try to play your favorite games or watch an amusing video or two, but it’s really no use, the screen is there, waiting.
“Writers write, you know,” it hisses.
You wonder how the screen found Anthony Hopkins" voice, but you wipe that from your mind as you once again open the screen. You open some of your past writings, just for a little inspiration, but as you read them, you realize with horror that you could not have possibly written those words. You look at the screen, fist rising to your mouth, as the horror grows, threatening to swallow you whole. It wrote it. That blank screen took on a life of its own, stole your hapless muse and forced her to inspire stories of its own creation.
Some how, this infuriates you. How dare this piece of electronic paper mock you so, you tell yourself; stealing what is rightfully yours and passing it off as its own. Somewhere deep in your soul you know you can do better.
“Prove it,” the screen scoffs, laughing an eerie Lectorish laugh.
So you do. You open the page and you begin to type the very first words that come to your mind.
I am sitting before this blank virtual piece of paper wondering if I can possibly find enough words to fill it.
I am sitting before this blank virtual piece of paper wondering if I can possibly find enough words to fill it. Personally, I don’t think it can be done. It’s not that I’m all that pessimistic (well, okay, I am, but really that’s not the point) it’s just that very recent history has proven to me that in the battles of wits that plays out between writer and blank screen, the blank screen has the upper hand.
It has all the intimidation of an unblinking stare; a harsh, unrelenting challenge. “Go ahead,” it whispers. “Try and fill me. In fact,” it continues in its quiet mocking tones. “I want you to.”
You try to ignore it; that malicious, taunting screen, so you quickly change screens, find a comforting game where you mind can sit while your fingers pretend to type. That’s when you realize that the screen has managed something you thought impossible. It has taken your friend; your very best friend, the one who had seen you through many a lonely night, bringing you gifts of words and games and quiet conversation, all bathed in a soft electronic glow. The screen has taken your friend and made it its own. Now, no matter where you go with your friend, or what you do, the screen stands just in the distance, out of sight, perhaps, but, you know it’s there. You move from board to board looking for a lively conversation, but are suddenly aware of the fan girl/boy that rules each page. You try to play your favorite games or watch an amusing video or two, but it’s really no use, the screen is there, waiting.
“Writers write, you know,” it hisses.
You wonder how the screen found Anthony Hopkins" voice, but you wipe that from your mind as you once again open the screen. You open some of your past writings, just for a little inspiration, but as you read them, you realize with horror that you could not have possibly written those words. You look at the screen, fist rising to your mouth, as the horror grows, threatening to swallow you whole. It wrote it. That blank screen took on a life of its own, stole your hapless muse and forced her to inspire stories of its own creation.
Some how, this infuriates you. How dare this piece of electronic paper mock you so, you tell yourself; stealing what is rightfully yours and passing it off as its own. Somewhere deep in your soul you know you can do better.
“Prove it,” the screen scoffs, laughing an eerie Lectorish laugh.
So you do. You open the page and you begin to type the very first words that come to your mind.
I am sitting before this blank virtual piece of paper wondering if I can possibly find enough words to fill it.