I gathered motivation, picked up a notebook and pen and was ready to write a beautiful story. The story existed in a ghostly and patchy form within the mind. A lot of neat construction had to be put in to unleash its captivating ability. “Start something, the rest will form and link up in the process.” That was my mind. I picked up the notebook and pen, getting ready to break out of inertia and flow.
It had been weeks I put down pen on paper for this purpose. There was no logical explanation to why the switch flipped down but the situation made me unhappy, knowing I have disappointed myself and the circle of audience. Holding the pen now felt a bit new, the page of the note starring back demandingly. Would “It was a cold Sunday evening...”make a good opener for the story? I contemplated the first word to put down. Writing with pen and paper was usually faster and more bonding for me than sitting over a PC to type a fresh idea, knowing video games could replace any moment of boredom. I put down the first word. It felt odd. I crossed it off...

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