IT’S THE SCARINESS OF THE blank screen. It’s the focused attention. It’s the mental sensation of assembling Tinker-Toy pieces into a coherent structure. It’s the way the hours fly by. It’s the nothing-else-like-it buzz (thank you, Stephen King). It’s the feel and click of the keys beneath my tapping fingers. It’s the occasional brain-wracking pause. (It’s also the occasional chortle.) It’s the sight of the screen filling up with my words. It’s the feeling of competency percolating through blinding insecurity. It’s the sense of ownership and agency. It’s the trying-out and rejection of synonyms until one fits. It’s the search for original phrases. It’s the avoidance of cliches. It’s the can’t-wait-to-share-this enthusiasm. It’s hitting the “Publish” button. It’s trying to type and calm the cat at the same time. If it’s news, it’s the weight of deep responsibility and search for absolute clarity. If it’s fiction, it’s the joy of watching the story begin to tell itself. It’s the nervous twitching while someone else reads it for the first time. It’s the brutality of “kill(ing) your darlings.” It’s the whittling-down and tightening of the editing process. It’s the endless river of words and ideas. It’s waiting out the pauses. It’s the satisfaction of having someone else read it and laugh (or not) in all the right places. And it’s the unparalleled “click” of the last word falling into place.
Those Who Know, Chuckle.
