No title, no story, no words.

He sat in front of the screen.

 Once again it was empty of words. A fresh start. A blank canvas. A clean slate. Ah thats all crap, he was stuck again and he knew it. And not just stuck on how to continue. Oh no, wasn't even started and that was worse. Not like he had written himself into a corner like the perverbular painter. Ended a chapter with no way out for the hero. Or trapped in a circular logic loop. No he hadn't even started. Not even a title of all things.

 But then titles are all important. Aren't they? They are and he knows it. The title is everything after all. A poor title and who would want to read it? "The World History Through the Examination of Worms" is quite unlikely to be read. Ok mabey a few overly curious zoology students might go a chapter or two. Actually it is quite unlikely to be published and threrefore read (or partially before being tossed) only by a long suffering editor. Or webmaster.

So he still sat in front of an empty screen.

 He needed a title. A title to catch the eye. Fan the flames of imagination. To literally command the beholders' mind to want to read the tale. Something catchy. Edgy. Poetic. Poetic! Where did that come from? Oh god he was slipping into desperation! Get away! Get away from the screen and make yourself a tea or all hope is lost!

 Into the kitchen and kettle in hand, he looked out the window. Standing undecided he wavered between a walk to the coffee shop or making a tea. Tea won and the kettle went on.

He sat again and looked at the screen.

 Ok he was going about this all wrong. It wasn't a title he needed. OK he would need a title but not yet. He needed a tale. A story. An epic novel of love lost and found, intrigue and integrity, of Heros triumphant and Villians undone!

He sat and looked at the screen.

 Blank. An empty white page. No black letters forming succulent words in a noble narrative. Only a lonely blinking cursor. Waiting patiently. So patiently for the stunning tale or riveting story to come forth.

Or is it?

Perhaps it's blinking is equal to a tapping foot. The tapping foot of someone's Mom waiting with hands on hips for one to do as one is told, and right now mister! Perhaps it is the blinking that is diastracting him from his sweeping story. The one that will enliven a readers mind to envision the masterfully worded account. Of sweeping landscapes and detailed lives.

 Ok ok no more distractions. No need to put human values on inanimate objects. Well not really an object the cursor is. Does something only projected by coloured pixels classify as an object? With a sigh he took himself in hand. No more thought tangents or distractions. A sip of the untouched tea and a realization that he had indeed, put in a little too much honey. 

 Alright, still sitting in front of a clean slate awaiting the first stroke of chalk. A blank canvas awaiting an artist's sable brush with vivid paint. Had to keep positive. He wasn't stuck. He was waiting to envision the right words for a proper title. No! No, he was waiting for a tale worth telling. A title would be thought of (angonized over) later. First he needed a story. A story to capture the imagination. To create dramatic pictures in the imagination of the reader. Because the reader was all important. With out a reader, was it really a tale? Like the tree that supposedly falls in a forest, did an unread story contain no words? If it didn't then he was on the right track.

 Back to the fresh start. The evil impatiant cursor mocked him with it's blinking. Oh! a tale! An evil entity possessing a computer  wrecks havoc on an unsuspecting software company! Ok the villian... no hero is a lowly code writter... no a bug hunter. Ya a bug hunter. Shy and introverted she can barely talk to her coworkers, let alone look at them.

 No she is a daring pirate on the high seas during the time of Blackbeard. Dessent among the superstitious crew and leading in a mans world were not tough enough. Pirate hunters and Merchentman. Plunder and booty. And rum, must have rum. Love unsworn of a British Captain who in turn is her greatest enemy.

 No no, that would never do. Write about what you know. It would be tough to write about pirates, when one has never even seen a single sea, let alone seven or sailed upon any of them.

 Alright then. That cuts out knights in shining armor, mages, demons,  and dragons. It cuts out spies and counter intelligence. It also cuts out, he muses, space ships and the captians that pilot them. It cuts out stage coaches and the wild chase scenes, bank robbers of days of yore and of newer times. In fact it cuts out so much that he realizes that he knows very little about most stuff that makes up the well read literatures. Actually it seems he knows very little. About a lot of things.

He debates about another tea, but this time the tea loses. But one thing he does know, is the cute girl who works the coffee shop and what he hopes is real flirtting. So the the tea and the title and the story lose to the girl with the sparkling eyes. He's out the door and down the dimly lit hallway towards the elevators while the evil cursor blinks away its distraction to no one.

 

The End

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