An innocent time
A long time ago I had a job where I worked four ten hour days. At the time it was great. I had every Tuesday off. It was pre-kids so I could sleep in a little, run some errands and enjoy the moment of having an entire work day all to myself.
Somewhere around this time I decided it was a time to try my hand at writing. It was something I knew I could do and Tuesday would be that day.
Suddenly a song by the Moody Blues comes to mind. Sorry, off topic.
This was my pre, pre, pre writing days, mind you. I use so many pre’s because I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. But regardless of all those pre’s that didn’t stop me from diving in.
I always wrote in the afternoon. I couldn’t be bothered with early morning writing. Who would do such a thing? In those days sleeping past nine, breakfast at my favorite greasy spoon and an hour or two of video games was clearly a priority.
Sadly the afternoon never got off the ground.
Note: In case you’re wondering, the tiny words above say – I have no clue what I’m doing. That was me in a nutshell back in the day.
I would stare at my computer screen for most of the day. Sometimes I’d type a complete sentence but most of the time I didn’t. When the day ended it always ended with frustration.
Life went on and writing took a back seat but one day an idea came to mind that just wouldn’t go away.
I remember grabbing a notebook and a pen. It didn’t take long for a page to be written. Soon two pages, ten, fifty….you get the idea.
By the end of the week a giant chunk of my story was told and it all had to do with an old notebook and a favorite pen.
I remember staring at my lonely keyboard wondering what just happened. This isn’t right. A writer is supposed to sit up straight for hours at a time typing away. We’re not supposed to write long hand.
This is so grade school.
I forced myself back into the typing mode. I can do this, I promised. All the greats and not-so-greats do it. Typing is the only way!!!
Yes, I was shouting.
Discovering a system
But no matter how hard I tried I could feel the pull of the notebooks and pens. My stories came alive when I combined those two and fell flat as a pancake if I dare sit in front of my computer screen.
It didn’t take long to give in. Who am I kidding, I told myself. Clearly I’m a little off. In order to tell my story I need pen and notebook and a whole lot of scribbles and dibbles. Ink stains on my hands and face. Whatever you say dear story, I give up. You’re the boss.
I hate typing
But on the flip side to this magical rainbow lies a dark side. For as much progress I make I still have the type the damn thing.
I still have to sit at my computer screen figuring out my scribbles and dribbles. I have to deal with the numerous red lines reminding me of my lousy spelling.
I continue to promise myself I will look into dictating software. I tried google and played around with memo on my phone but I have yet to find something that I like.
But for all of my complaining that I do I really shouldn’t. My days of staring at the computer screen searching for an answer are over. I have a pretty good system so why bother messing with it.
But still….every now and then I wish I could be like Flash and stop worrying so much. If only I can figure out how to nap on that tiny chair maybe I could actually love typing.