The Writer

The Writer

The writer sat down at the open laptop, desperate eyes stared at a blank screen.

The writer stared for a very long time willing the whiteness to become dotted by stunning prose. It remained silent.

Fingers poised above the qwerty keyboard – waited to perform the writers art.

Time moved on. The fingers stayed still, the prose unwritten.

Suddenly thoughts crowded the writer's mind. Fingers flash across the laptop keys. A word is written. Then another and another until the page becomes a white sea of black dots.

The writer's thoughts stop as suddenly as they started.

Time passes. Nothing. Blank. Until crawling from the writer's fertile imagination dozens of words fall in a collection of sentences and paragraphs.

One sentence. Two, then three. A paragraph is born, only to be aborted by the delete key.

Dissatisfaction rages within the writer.

The writer gets up from the desk to let the cat out. Returns, leaves again to let the cat in.

A blank mind feeds the dog. Walks the dog. A tortured mind hopes for inspiration.

A 1000 words. The writer wants – needs - a 1000 words. The writer has 100. The delete key brings that total down to 10.

Morning edges into afternoon. Afternoon to early evening. The writer's dull ache matches the dimness of the falling light.

A mind that was filled in the middle of the night with a myriad of ideas is now empty. Creativity is lost, blocked from the writer's imagination.

The writer gets up from the desk, coffee to feed and rekindle the lost ideas. Hot, sweet, liquid in a cup does nothing to help, simply burns the writer's lip.

The writer closes the lid of the laptop and decides to wait for the night to bring ideas for the morning.

A 1000 words is all the writer needs – tomorrow.