All my life I have dreamed about being a writer. The ability to share my stories with others would be amazing. My characters on paper wrapped up in a pretty book cover. However, I never seem to get past the first couple of chapters. I have so many ideas and story lines running through my overcrowded brain. But once I sit in front of the computer or with a pen and paper it all immediately disappears. Then I just sit and stare. Trying to recover the ideas I had in the first place. Trying to make sense of my thoughts.
The blank page with its pulsing cursor is two faced. At first it is a clear slate. Just waiting for words to cover it. Its a new beginning. A new story that is waiting to unfold on the page before me. I am excited to let the words flow from my mind down my arms, into my finger tips and finally onto the screen. This is when the cursor is encouraging. "Oh, I love it! What happens next? Oh, no she didn't?!" This cursor is my partner. Each pulse it makes ignites new ideas and new words that caresses it's page.
On the other hand, it is my worst enemy. That little cursor mocking me. Like a school yard bully that you have to stand up to but really just want to run home to Mommy. "You have nothing, do you? What are you going to write now? Is it any good? I'm waiting! Why do you call yourself a writer. Its just a blog you silly woman!"
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. That little line marking my page where I am suppose to place those incredibly interesting words that will ignite passion or fear into others, just keeps blinking at me. Ans so I sit and stare. I am caught in it's trance. Praying that something will come. But instead I have nothing. Not today. So what do I do? What will I find to inspire me to put it in words for others to enjoy or hate? Why not? I will write about that damn cursor. It has caused such mixed emotions in me. Why shouldn't I share it?
Blink. Blink. Blink. "I knew one day I would get to her." Blink. Blink. Blink.
