Sometimes the cursor just sits there and blinks at you.
"I'm ready" it says.
"For what?" my response is annoyance.
"For you to start typing."
"I don't really have anything to type about at the moment."
"That's not my problem" the cursor says smugly. "I'm just a tool, you know. You're the creative one."
I thrum my fingers on the keyboard lightly in frustration. "I just can't think of anything. That's not really my fault. It's the creative process - I can't just make it happen."
The cursor just sits there, blinking on and off at me. "Type, type" it says as it flickers on, off, on, off.
Thrum on the keyboard again. "You're not helping." Sighing, I slump down in the chair a bit, waiting for inspiration to strike.
And waiting. No lightning strikes today.
The cursor sighs. "Wow. You really have hit bottom. Sorry."
"Thanks." I smile wanly. "Sometimes I sit down and I know exactly what I'm going to say; sometimes I don't have any idea. I wish I could find more themes, but when I theme something I miss the opportunity to wander off on a really good thought. That's the risk that seems to come with this sort of stream of consciousness writing that I seem to have developed."
Blink, blink. Thrum, thrum.
"Hey, I've got an idea" the cursor finally breaks out. "Why don't you let me drive this morning?"
I chuckle and half smile. "Okay. What are you going to write about?"
The cursor changes from a line to a parenthesis. " ). I thought we might write about sitting down at the keyboard in the morning...."