The blank word processor page, on my laptop’s screen, glared emphatically at me.
“How dare you parade me about in such an undressed way” It seemed to say. ” Come on, Mr. big shot, writer guy, At least cover me up, with a few words!”
l shifted us to a different spot on the couch. The light was better here, and it had a much nicer view of the garden.
I alternated from thinker pose to keyboard drummer and then finally to gazing vacantly out the window.
The whole time, that lousy, blank screen, with its annoyingly bouncy cursor was just taunting me.
“Let me be,” I cried! Can’t you see that I’m deep in thought? That I am mere moments away from manuscript magnificence here?”
Oh, but my wiley, old computer knew me better than that. Knew my faults, foibles and silly games, better than I knew them, myself.
Even now, as I stared distractedly at the empty page, the pointer was prancing around the bleak, blankness pointing out my pathetic lack of production.
My mind wandered and drifted around for thirty minutes, or more, never once landing on a decent story idea.
From across the room my session timer buzzed and I walked over to shut it off.
I don’t know if I half expected a magic writing genie, or wizard to have had it’s way with my keyboard, in my absence. Perhaps I had convinced myself that I had actually been creative, for a time.
You need to remember, just this, my mind was already, off, taking a vacation in Club Med, at this point. These things happen, I mean, after all, even the humble shoemaker had his elves, right?
I stared at my screen in dumb-struck, disbelief.
“No, no,” I cried! “This simply cannot be!”
The blank, screen loomed over me.
Where were my prolific, prose, my sparkling sentence structures, my pithy rejoinders?
A strangely sardonic, sonic, note unlike any other, errupted from the depths of my tortured diaphragm. It reverberated round and around, then like a tempest in a teapot, soared skyward.
The diabolical Block had struck again!
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