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| Photo shamelessly stolen from Neil Gaiman |
She sat in front of
her keyboard waiting for divine inspiration; she supposed this would be more
likely if she believed in the divine.
She rolled her eyes
and typed a few words. Then she
immediately deleted them. The screen
remained blank.
“To be a writer, you
have to write.” That’s what it said on
the motivational poster on the wall. But
the words that used to flow so easily, had been silent for months. Ever since…
Well, no point thinking about what was.
Now she had to write. Deadlines could be fatal.
She looked around the
room. There had to be something here she
could craft a story about. Hmmmm the
paperclip? Nah, Microsoft had claimed
that one as a help icon. Stickynotes? No – that too had already been done.
The cell phone
buzzing was a welcome distraction. She’d
sworn off the phone until the newest project was at least started, but it could
be important. Seeing her best friend’s
name on the screen let her know she shouldn't answer. But, maybe a break was what she needed? Maybe
some time away from the white screen of emptiness would give her some
ideas. Perhaps a coffee would create a
flow of inspiration. Words would fill
the page as they once had.
It was worth a try. She closed the laptop and escaped to the
local coffee shop to meet her two closest friends. The girls gathered around their favourite
table. One white hot chocolate, one espresso,
and one chai tea. When they went for
coffee it was accepted nobody would actually drink plain coffee. She said all the right things as the gossip
flowed, held up her end of the conversation – freely blaming her friends for her
complete lack of productivity; after all, that’s what friends are for. But when she smiled, it didn’t quite reach
her eyes. She was quick to catch and interpret the brief look her friends gave
each other. She knew they worried about
her, but she couldn’t be strong for them. Not this time. She could barely be
strong for herself. And so before the pause could become awkward, she pleaded
too much work and tossed her cup in the garbage on her way out the door. She knew her friends watched her leave, but
she never looked back.
When she got home the
screen was still white, but this time, it wasn't intimidating.
She knew it was time. The words
would flow through her fingers once more.
But where once they had come from laughter and dreams giving light tales
of romance and fun, this one would come from tears and reality. She started to type.
“Six months ago, my
life, as I knew it, ended. Tomorrow, it
will start again. Today, I will complete
the journey from death to life. You may
join me, if you’re strong enough.”
She paused and
considered for a moment. Her hands shook
and a single tear crept, unnoticed, down her cheek. She knew, if she continued, that by the end
she would be exhausted. She suspected she would likely become a far better writer. And, she realized with a wry grin, she would be in
need of a new market. As she contemplated the fallout to come and realized that maybe,
just maybe, she was strong enough after all.
And with that in mind, she let the words flow.
