I sat down to write today, but I didn’t know what to write. I wanted to put something together for the blog, but the Idea Fairy gifted me with exactly zero ideas for a post…
Hey, wait, I know — I’ll write a microfiction piece! Yeah, that’s it, a quick-and-dirty little story!
But…wait…what the hell should that story be about?
I still got nothin’!
Well, crap…screw it. I guess it’s time to throw it all to the wind and just write. So, here we go…one hour on the clock, please, to conceive and write…
His mind was working overtime. The ideas were there, the characters were there. Most importantly, the words were there.
They were there, like a class of sugared-up fifth graders are there. The ideas and characters, the words themselves, were jumping and falling all over themselves. The big words were beating up the little words, while the cute words were causing havoc among the ugly ones…
The cursor blinked at him and the blank screen stared accusingly. He had to write something.
For all the emotion and thought pent up inside, the blinking and staring continued.
“It was a dark and stormy night…”
Okay, that’s no way to start a story. Even he knew that. Almost as bad as starting with your character waking from a deep sleep.
“Call me Ishmael..”
Type…delete. Type…delete. Type…delete.
He stared back, thinking “Fuck you, screen!” On his feet, then, and he didn’t sit again until he had a full drink in his hand. Maybe the whiskey would help.
He searched his past, his present and his future. He thought of all the words he had written over the years…and of all the words yet to come. He wrestled and fought his thoughts even as he forced his fingers once again onto the keys.
This time…this time the words would come. He would make them come!
“His mind was working overtime…”
By the way, I succeeded(ish). 42 minutes.
Wait…shit…should I edit it?!?!