Writers' Block vs. The Deadline: the Art of Needing 350 words by morning

My fingers sit poised on the keyboard, eager, waiting. As I look at them, they wait with me, one finger twitches, then another, then a flutter of clicks and we stare at the screen together, my fingers and I. Crap. It sucks. BackspaceBackspace. SpaceSpace. And we wait. The pushups I did earlier aren’t helping. My arms are sagging, and the weight of my little muscles pulls my hands from the desk.

It sure is getting late, I say to my fingers.

Yeah, sure is—they say back. You better get going.

Yeah, I better.

The tips of my fingers are restless. The letters are lying beneath them; they’re touching them. They know the letters are waiting to scamper up to the bright screen and shine bright words into my dark room. I’m not sure why the words are not coming tonight. The other night, I wrote two pages, just cause I wanted to.

We, say my fingers.

What? I say.

We wrote two pages.

Oh, sorry. We.

Tonight, it’s just staring, and waiting. My arms really want to fall off, and I don’t think I’d mind too much—pretty original excuse: Why didn’t you finish the assignment? Well, (give them my arms) I, uh, couldn’t.

Unlikely, I think to myself.

Yeah, you’re telling me, say my fingers.

Oh my gosh! I say out loud, in my head.
You can hear my thoughts! I say to my fingers. This is getting weird.

Yeah, they say, but you’re only at 238 words, so I’d take what you can get.

Good point, I say.

So I go back to staring, waiting, twitching. What profound thing can I write about? I think about clouds and mountains. Wait. I think I’m on to something: My fingers, on the keyboard—it’s like I’m waiting, watching for what comes next. Just like life. Senior, graduating, no job—but then I figure out that the keys won’t push themselves; that it’s me that has to type. It’s perfect. I’ll write about that.

What do you think? I ask my fingers.

Sucks. That’s a terrible idea. They say that.

Whatever! I say. What’s your idea, then?

Go to bed, they say. You’ll think of something in the morning.

Whatever. I say again. Fine.