A glimpse into a typical day in the life of a writer.
She sits religiously down at her desk, staring at the laptop in front of her. Her fingers lightly skim over the keyboard as she pulls herself upright, mentally preparing herself for the words to flow through her. She glances at the clock and back at the monitor determinedly. The minutes pass by. Her hands stubbornly refuse to move. Her brain reflects the state of the blank screen before her. Her eyes wander, searching for the trigger that will get her creative juices flowing. Half an hour, the clock reminds her. She sighs and stretches, gazing dejectedly at the spectacular view outside her window. Her stomach growls. ‘Not now,’ she chides herself. Brushing off the thought of warm, comforting food in her belly, she schools her mind to concentrate on the task at hand. The seconds tick away. She can picture her inner muse refusing to cooperate, toying with her like a child playing hide and seek. Aggravated, she slams the lid of her laptop shut, a little more forcefully than she is supposed to. She walks away briskly, searching for a distraction. An alarm rings, signalling the end of an hour. “Great!” she exclaims, sarcastically, rushing back to turn the annoying sound off.
She finds herself deep in conversation with four people. She struggles to keep up with its ebb and flow as words come unbidden to her mind, pulling her attention away from the not-so-interesting anecdote of one of her friends. She makes no attempt to reign in her wandering thoughts. She feverishly wishes she were at her desk now, her laptop open, her hands typing away at a furious pace, struggling to match the speed of her inner writer. Reality becomes a blurry backdrop as the characters in her head spring to life. The protagonist hesitates, weighing his options. One wrong move and the world as he knows it will end. Reassuring himself that his decision is for the best, he strides forward-
Someone taps her lightly on her shoulder. Her companions are brought into sharp focus again and she snaps out of her trance. She offers a quick, apologetic smile as she rejoins the discussion.
Later in the day she faces the dreaded screen again, her head in her hands as she longs for the magic that had taken hold of her before to return.
Pages That Rustle 