I call myself a writer, yet I have not written anything in many years. Was there a day when all my words were taken from me? They must have been ripped from my thoughts because try as I may, I cannot find a way to bring them back. I sit at a computer, staring at the screen waiting, for inspiration to hit. I continue to stare at a blank white rectangle page with a blinking horizontal line that seems to mock me. Blink… blink… blink… My mind wanders aimlessly. I am searching for words to stream together to make a coherent sentence. To bring life and imagination to the line that takes a piece of my soul with every blink… blink… blink… Why do you mock me line? Why do you torment me so? I remember when I would just gently touch the tips of my fingers to the keyboard and words would flow like a raging river on the screen. Sometimes they would be soft and tender about love or happiness. Sometimes they would be harsh and treacherous like the forest in a thunderstorm. Blink…blink…blink… but now I place my finger on the keys in front of me. These little black squares with white letters hoping that my fingers will find the right ones to make words stream into sentences. And sentences into paragraphs. And paragraphs into a story that would grip you, the reader, and take you on an adventure. But alas all I see is this little horizontal line in front of me laughing with every blink… blink…blink.
I’m a writer… I love to write! I’ve been writing since I was eight years old. I can’t imagine life without stories. My life, and your life it’s a story that we are writing everyday.