He sat there,
just staring into the blank screen. He had been sitting for hours looking at
it, and it was blank, just like his thoughts.
He knew he had
to write something, it was the only thing he could do. But what? Nothing was
coming out of his imagination. He knew he had to put something down, but what?
There was nothing coming out of his head.
All of his life
he had been able to sit, and put pen to paper, without a doubt. All of his life
his head was full of ideas, waiting to burst out. For him, to write was second
nature, was part of who he was. He had never had a doubt. But today for the
first time, he could not do it, he could not execute the one thing he was born
to do, write.
But what he was
trying to write was just not coming out and he could not figure it out. For he
was a person who could take a look at something, and bring it to life into a
story.
But this time
not even that, not even a simple story.
All of his life
he had been able to just sit down and vomit onto paper what was on his head.
And he had no technic. There were not complex roadmaps, post its all over a
wall, spider-grams, mountains of notes, research of characters or places; no
notes, no history, just one single thought turned into a story. In a way he was
very relaxed in his approach, he always believed this was the way he should
write. But something had changed and now he was stuck, there, in front of the
screen, lost in his own space, a blank and empty space.
He continued to
stare at the blank screen, the curser blinking continually as if saying “I’m
ready to go”, it just kept blinking and winking at him. His hands did not move,
they sat at each side of the computer keyboard; sitting still, with the occasional
tap of his fingers, like playing a piano. His eyes would wink occasionally to
moist, sometimes in perfect sync with the curser. Several times he had to scratch
his left ear, he wasn’t sure if it was a genuine itch or a nervous tick, either
way this had been the most repetitive action he had done since he had sat in front
of the computer several hours ago.
He didn’t dare take
his eyes of the screen, just in case an idea would come, he wanted to be ready
to put it down. He was thirsty and could do with a glass of fresh water.
However, getting up to such activity would distract him and take him away from
the screen.
It had been
several months since he had turn on the machine, he found a hundred and one
reason not to turn it on, so now he had finally done it, he was not prepared to
let it go just for a glass of water! He moist his lips and moved away from that
thought, he need to focus back onto the blank screen.
The curser continues
to blink and he continued to looked at it.
Another repetitive
occasional action was to gently rub his index finger on the touch pad of his
computer to keep the screen from falling a sleep. It was quite annoying and
found it a real distraction. And every time he did this his mind would wonder
somewhere else for a few seconds, it would take his thoughts away from the
blank space in front of him.
In one of such
moments, the distraction tempted him to go to the toilet, he hadn't been since
he sat down to write. Though he didn’t suffer from a weak bladder, he was known
to visit the toilet several times whilst writing. Mind you this was caused by
the tremendous amount of drinks he would consume during a writing session,
every from coffee to soft drinks to the occasional glass of wine, for
inspiration purposes of course. Ah, yes, he could do with one of those now, may
be it would help… But the thought of getting up and losing his concentration
prevented him even from going to get a glass of water! It had been too long
since he sat down to write and he was not going to give it up for a frivolous
indulgence such as water or alcohol. Oh no, he would not let this happen so he
just sat there staring at the blank space in his computer. He winked twice,
tapped his fingers once and sat there waiting to put something down.
Suddenly the
bell rang, it was the door bell and someone was outside. “What should I do”, he
asked himself, “should I answer or ignore it?” The bell rang again, this time
followed by a knock on the door. “Unbelievable!” He thought “do people don’t
know I’m trying to write?” A third attempt came, door bell, knock on the door
and this time complemented by a “is there anyone at home?” “Is there anyone at
home? Really? If there was they would have answer the first time! Why would
someone go out of their way to knock three times thinking there is someone at
home!” He paused, perplexed, and slightly aware of what he had just said to
himself. And a fourth attempt came from a very persistent person outside his
door.
Being highly
critical of himself, he realised that his previous thought made no sense, here
is what went thought his head; if someone outside was keen to talk to someone
inside and for him to think that the person outside thought there was no one
inside, this was incorrect as he was inside, and someone outside was trying to
find if there was someone inside! This muddled up thought suddenly overwhelmed
him and he rushed to the door and opened it only to find an empty space, the
very insistent person outside had given up thinking there was someone inside and
left.
And now he was
standing there, staring at an empty space, not knowing what could have been so
important that made a person knock four times loudly thinking there was someone
inside!
Could It have
been important? Or was it just someone trying to sell him something, or talk to
him about something? I guess he would never know. Unless of course it was a
matter of life and death in which case they would come back or try to contact
him through other means.
He shut the
door, walked back to his computer and sat in front of the blank screen. For ten
seconds he watched the curser blink ten times, and on the eleven his hands
lifted from the side and rested on the keyboard, and he began to write down his
thoughts, thoughts of what had just happened.
After five
hours, three cups of coffee, two diet cokes, several glasses of water, a half a
bottle of wine and several visits to the toilet, he placed the final full stop
in his story called “blank space” he looked at it, smile and realised that
looking at a blank space is no way to get inspired to write, the stories
waiting to be told are out there, somewhere, you just have to look for them.
He never found
out who knocked on his door four times that day, but a small action lead to an
extraordinary event told in a story that filled a blank space.
