Cents, Sense, Sent

3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320
words/phrase provided by @thebriemarie

The computer is a cold brick compared to a piece of paper. Writing on a keyboard is too mechanical, it doesn’t make sense. There is no continuous flow of thought from brain to finger tips. When writing angry, pressing harder on the keyboard doesn’t show on the screen. On paper, I could read the emotions of any language by the jaggedness of lines, indents left by utensils and letters spilling over lines and bumping into other letters.

No emotion on the screen. I am pissed. I am calm. I am shaking with rage. I am peaceful. But you only know those things because I have to spell the words out.

I can barely spell out the words now. My mind caught between thinking about what to write and remembering my finger placements. Though I’ve been typing for 25-26 years, when it comes to writing something creative it must begin for me with pen or pencil on paper.

I’m too close to distraction on a computer. My mind doesn’t wander into itself, it gets lost in the black hole of whatever question I might have at any given moment (is that really how utensils is spelled? Is there a better word for writing utensils? Who was that guest appearance on Curb Your Enthusiasm? When will my cousin be online playing video games?)

There is only paper and pen when I’m writing with paper and pen. And though often I feel as if my hand needs to catch up with my mind, it’s that furious scrawling that makes the whole thing feel natural. I’m not conscious of the tools of writing only that I am in the act of writing.

Everyday I turn on the computer and get asked about apple this or apple that. updates and notifications that force me to spend time clicking them away just so I can write. I wish sometimes there were a machine that simply allowed one to right and allowed nothing else.

Of course, that doesn’t make sense, or cents. They need to sell a machine that can do everything. They, the ones making the machines. A machine to carry in your backpack, a machine to set up at home or your office. A machine that you can put in your pocket. A machine that you can fold. But really they are all the same fucking machine. With the same abilities, assets, bloody notifications and endless stream of password change requests.

I resent it, though I use it all the time, so who is in charge? Me or the computer? I feel less subservient to paper and pen. It’s my ideas that are master when I’m using ink or lead.

Perhaps I’m old fashioned. Maybe I’m hanging on to something stupid. More bloody nostalgia, that indescribable quality on which everyone seems to be cashing in on these days. Remakes of remakes within my 33 year lifespan.

Make something fucking original. Have some guts. Keep writing on paper.

Enough of this bullshit.


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