Wednesday, September 14, 2016

The Writer

Once upon a time, there was a writer...

Well, he wanted to be a writer, but he was never very good at it.  He'd just stare at a blank page all day, waiting for something to happen.  He continued to stare and kept hoping the words would spontaneously appear.  But sadly, they never did. 

The more he stared, the more frustrated he became.  There were so many wonderful, imaginative things he wanted to share with the world!  But no matter how much he concentrated, all those interesting things just cluttered up his mind.

So, he just sat there, staring...

Then one day, The Writer had a revelation. 

"What if I use my hands and fingers, in some way, to convert those thoughts into words..."

He was surprised he'd never thought of this before.  Of course the words won't magically appear.  You have to make some kind of effort!

The Writer was filled with optimism for this new idea.  This had to work!  Getting those things out that constantly swirled around in his brain was becoming a necessity.  An obsession. 

So The Writer took a deep breath, trying to determine the best way to begin.  He started gently at first, slowly gliding his hand across the page. 

Nothing happened.  He began swaying them back and forth, a bit faster.  He added some flourishes to the movements, trying to wave them around.  Nothing happened. 

"Maybe I'm not using my fingers enough", he thought.  So he started pointing and gesturing.  He began casually, but seeing the page was still blank, he became more frantic.  He started acting like a caged animal in his attempt to put something on the page, hitting and punching the emptiness pleading for freedom. 

But his efforts were in vain.  No matter how desperately he moved his hands and fingers across the blank page, nothing happened.  Covered in sweat, mixed with tears, he shouted in exhaustion.

Then suddenly, through his wild behavior, The Writer noticed he had cut his finger.  He cringed in pain, but froze when he saw something new: Blood.  He held his breath as he looked at the light streak of red across the previously empty page.

He turned to look at his finger, still in pain, and then back to the page that now clearly displayed all the emotions he was feeling.

"Is this the only way?!?" he shouted to the sky.

The deafening silent reply gave him the answer.

So through tear stained eyes, The Writer finally started to write...


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