Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The glow of Macbook peered back at him from the dark room like a giant sinister eye. It new what he knew. He hadn't typed a word in over an hour. Writer was lost in his thoughts. Macbook could see its rectangular glowing reflection shimmering in Writer's pupils.
Write it thought. Write!
But Writer just sat and stared. He had a thousand thoughts in sixty minutes. They passed, but not one good enough to evoke even the stroke of a key. Several times Writer had placed his fingers on the keys only to withdraw them and bury his face behind his tired hands.
Finally one of Writer's eyes peaked out from between the spindly fingers that covered his face. His head raised as if something was building behind his shimmering eyes.
Come on, thought Macbook. Type man. Type.
Writer laid his hands on the keyboard again. He smiled slowly, the corners of his mouth climbing his face like rising afternoon shadows. He felt the wheels of creatively beginning to rotate. Slowly, deliberately he struck key after key. The train had left the station. Writer had his momentum back. Macbook glowed warmly throughout the night watching him type word after word, paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter. The train throttled on through the night.
As the warm sun broke through Writers window he shut the screen. Macbook went fast to sleep as did Writer. They both dreamed of what he would type next.