The cursor and I
Blinking cursor, waiting impatiently. Write something. Anything. Come on! Straight black line, standing sentinel, an old friend. We’ve danced this tango so many times before. You know me and I know you. You know it takes me a minute, but I always get there. Have I ever let you down?
Let myself down? Sure. Nearly every time. But you, never. You’re happy just to be filled, aren’t you. No matter how much I write, you just stand there; blinking, waiting for more. You’re kind of greedy but I’ll allow it. Must be lonely on a blank page.
I think you just want me to be vulnerable with you. You don’t expect anything from me. You’re not looking for Austen or King or Faulkner. You just want me. Any words or phrases will do, as long as it’s from me. You blink to remind me that there’s always more to say. Nothing is useless. Though everything has been said before, it’s never been said by me, and that’s the power. That’s the point.
So many writers get caught up in being original. They get stuck in the thinking, planning and plotting. They worry over grammar and using impressive vocabulary. But the cursor doesn’t care. Every writer has their own personal cursor that blinks just for them. Waits for them to bleed out onto the page. No judging, just waiting. As I said, you’re a bit greedy but your hunger encourages me to push on. Never quit. Find the words. You’re my motivation.
I can’t lie: I hunger for words, too. I’m a book eater. A language devourer. I need letters and words and sentences and paragraphs and chapters to sustain me. They’re my lifeblood. My raison d’être, my ikigai, my purpose.
That’s a lot of pressure, when you put it that way. But I think you remind me, cursor, that it’s okay. Something being important to you doesn’t have to be serious. A lot of the time, I put the two in the same boat. They’re mutually exclusive to me. But what if that’s not true?
Definition of important: “of great significance or value”
Definition of serious: “demanding or characterised by careful consideration or application”
Let’s see here, my storytelling and my writing does fit into both definitions. Something of value and something I carefully consider. But I don’t need to carefully consider every time. Take this post, and the ones I’ve written every morning this summer for 38 days in a row, I’ve not carefully considered them. Not thought them through. I’ve just written whatever came to mind.
That’s pure freedom. Pure expression.
So maybe I’m not a “serious writer” but I can be an important one, who treats her work as important. I think I can live with that, what do you think? Oh, you want me to write more? Quit blinking at me already! Such a greedy boy. The piece is over!
Sincerely,
S. xx