I am a writer.
You’ve no idea how long that phrase sat on my screen, the cursor blinking at me while I decided what should come next. It reminds me of a turn signal on a car that just sits at an abandoned intersection. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for another vehicle to approach and validate the signal’s reason for blinking before it moves. Blink. Blink. Blink.
Now, I know sane drivers don’t actually do that. At least, I’ve never sat endlessly at an abandoned intersection waiting for another car to arrive. That’s not to say I speed right on through. I’m a stickler for the rules, so I’ll still come to a complete stop – most of the time. And I do, in fact, signal. Even if no one is there. It’s mostly a force of habit, and that drives me crazy about myself. And it probably drives you crazy if you’re behind me at that stop sign. It makes my husband nuts.
He’s one of those people who – at a long-light intersection – will wait for the light to turn green and the cars in front of him to start moving before he puts on his turn signal. The incessant ticking annoys him if we’re sitting there for any length of time. But I turn on my signal nice and early, because there is something entrancing in the ticking sound. A rhythm to which I find myself rocking back and forth in the driver’s seat, in that finite bit of time while I wait for instruction from the lights. I find it almost soothing.
Looking at the cursor, I hear the turn signal on my car. Chick-chock. Chick-chock. Chick-chock. And I begin to sway, in that finite bit of time while I wait for inspiration to strike. The pressure of writing my first non-story blog post stretched that finiteness from bit to chunk. I started a few sentences, then pedaled back to the period after ‘writer’ and let the cursor wait there. Chick-chock. Chick-chock. Chick-chock.
Nothing seems right for an inaugural topic, and yet, I know I am putting way too much thought into this. I don’t have a following yet. But if I don’t put something up there – something to get me started – there will be no movement forward. This blog will sit here, waiting like a car with its blinking turn signal at an abandoned intersection. Waiting for someone to come along and validate its reason for being before it moves.
Yes, I am a writer. And as such, my inspiration comes from many places. Today, it comes from the blinking cursor itself, waiting for me to pick a direction and just go. And cripes, I have to get something on this damned page sooner or later!
– D.M. Domosea
D.M. Domosea 