I have no idea what-
summer always makes me want to write
I resolve to
be disciplined
and inspired
I tell myself that since I can't seem to sleep anyway,
I might as well hole up in the kitchen
drinking coffee and whiskey and writing the great American novel
while my family sleeps
I might even take up cigarettes
isn't that what great writers do, while they burn the midnight oil?
but whenever I sit down at the computer
or with a pad and pen
my mind goes as blank as the page or the screen
Okay, okay, I tell myself
it doesn't have to be worthy of the Nobel prize for literature
how about a profound poem?
Nothing comes
the juices don't flow
inept, ineffectual, insecure, and most of all uninspired
Okay, okay, how about an essay or an article?
or a journal entry, how about a journal entry?
I've always said that I ought to keep a diary.
Hmmmmm...
Nope
Nada, muchas mas nada
Nix,
nine,
nought
Okay, okay don't be discouraged
why not just some kind of blog post?
If I'm lucky, I manage to tweet a tweet or update my facebook status
Today my wife's grandmother brought over a magical gift
a 1940's Royal Quiet Portable DeLuxe typewriter
A beautiful relic of a home office appliance
The keys were covered with white waxy film
dust or mold, I did not know
but I took to it like a restorationalist at a museum
lovingly I swabbed each key with a rag
dipped in vinegar and dish soap
and brought back the original hunter-green luster
There was still oil in the apparatus
and ink in the ribbon
we inserted a new sheet of crisp, white, blank computer-printer paper
My daughters curiously observed our activities
"What IS that thing?"
They honestly had no idea
"Before laptops, that was how writers wrote."
"What?" Really? How?"
"Sit down in front of it and type something."
So my daughter, filled with enthusiasm
situated herself in front of the keys, winding the paper up the the beginning
and ultimately sighed, deflated and defeated
Now what?
I don't know what to write.
Tell me about it, I know exactly how you feel
