February 9, 2015

How nice is it to type on this soft-keyed keyboard? Could it be so nice that it inspires creativity? Does typing on such a comfortable surface reawaken lost passion for words or ideas? Or is it simply a gimmick? a fake?

Finding yourself at a loss for words kinda sucks in the grand scheme of things. What do you really have to say? Is what you say enough for you to make a point? What is your point? Are you just pounding on the keyboard as an infinite strain of monkeys would type on an infinite army of typewriters? What do you expect to write when you primate finger-mash until the infinite typewriters must finally speak? Will you be proud of the wisdom that’s trickled from your fingertips? Would you prefer that your words had actually come from the minds of infinite monkeys in an infinite monkey army?

The touch of the keyboard is nice, but thoughts still matter. I find that my thoughts have been cluttered as of late. I sit down to write, and what follows is not what I’d call writer’s block, but just empty desire. Or maybe the desire for too much. Or maybe the desire for the overwhelming ending. But really, it’s the task of “having” to write something to advance a story, yet realizing that I’m not actually invested into the story. Who’s this new character I’m trying to figure out? Why is he interesting? Why is his internal conflict conflicting? I don’t know. I want to focus on something else.

Where is my army of infinite monkeys? When can I expect them to finish this story for me? I have no other muse.