She was doing it. She was really doing it. Lisa typed away on her laptop, watching the words fill the screen.
Well, maybe fill was too strong a word. They appeared. She had no idea where they came from. They were simply there when she reached for them. It had taken her the better part of an hour, but she’d managed to come up with enough of the phantom sentences to cover one page.
She probably looked crazy. She could feel herself grin, but there was no one to see anyway so what did it matter? Lisa just kept typing, thinking about how much better she was doing than Ben.
And then, suddenly, the words weren’t there for her anymore.
One minute she was thinking about what the characters were feeling and how they’d react to each other, and the next, nothing. It was like someone had turned off the movie projector in her head.
She had no idea how to get it started again. What had she been thinking about? She couldn’t remember.
She re-read what she’d written, hoping that would jog her memory, though really it wasn’t like she’d known what she was going to say in the first place, so what was there to remember?
What a mish mash. While she was doing the actual writing she’d felt smart, strong, and masterful. She’d felt the creation of a world taking place in her fingers and in her mind. She’d imagined readers so grateful to read what she wrote that they’d break down in tears.
Yeah, they’d cry all right – for having to read this dreck. She’d have to hold someone at gun point to make them, because no one would voluntarily subject themselves to this, would they? It was mostly a jumble of words.
Her brilliant characterization, enchanting scenery, and deep and meaningful themes – where had they all gone? She barely recognized the words.
Gawd, what would Ben say? He’d probably laugh at her. She was such a smarty pants, but this was the best she could do? And this after what she’d said about not being able to write because he didn’t have a computer being just an excuse…
Except she was right. He had paper. He could write.
And so could she. Maybe this would go even better if she didn’t try to write straight into her computer. Maybe she should write by hand first. She’d heard somewhere that a lot of authors did that – write it all out by hand and then type it in.
She closed the file without saving any of the words because they were all trash anyway, and turned off her laptop. She grabbed a sheet of paper, and put it on her desk, ready to go.
And there it sat. Bare. Naked. Bereft of a single word.
Lisa pulled at her hair. What happened? One minute she was typing away and the words were all just there, and the next, nothing. She didn’t even keep what she’d written because they weren’t any good anyway. But maybe she should have because at least they were written. That was better than this utter sense of emptiness.
Was this really what writing was like? Did she really expect to get a whole book written this way?
No way. She had better things to do with her time. Like apologizing to Ben for not taking him seriously enough.
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