“I sit in a room for 7 hours a day, in my underwear, staring at my computer screen. I am a writer.”
– Tim O’Brien
Aggravated hands roughly pushed away the keyboard towards the monitor on my desk. I tilted my head back and dug my fingers into my curly hair in frustration. A groan released itself from my lips as I slouched back into position. Fingertips at the ready over my favorite keys, which were not the ones the schools tried to force you to use as “home keys,” I let my mind flow freely. I never considered revision until I had slept on it, so today had been nothing but pouring onto the page.
The only sense of time I had was watching as my Flux app adjusted the lighting on my screen so it wouldn’t hurt my eyes as I worked late into the night. My characters had taken the story and ran with it. I watched with a sense of motherly pride as they picked up the torch of plot I had lit for them, and, with a brief smile and a nod, guided themselves there. The words may have come from my soft fingertips flying across the keys of my keyboard, but the stories came from them. My sweet children.
Frowns of writer’s block would send them into sympathetic encouragement. They cheered me on, waiting patiently as I attempted to find the words for what they were thinking or doing. Giddy giggles of excitement would worry them to no end as they feared what love or danger they may be running themselves into.
I stretched my arms up high with a yawn. Flux, my computer app, was letting me know it was 2am again.
Good night, my lovelies. I’ll be back in the morning.