Deep into the winter years of his life he found himself with a newfound compulsion to write. He sat down each morning with a coffee on his desk and his laptop before him and stared at a blank screen until the coffee went cold. Then he got up and made another.
The screen remained blank for weeks. Where to start? Where to go? He stared off into the bleary moors that surrounded his isolated home. The problem, he decided, was that generator. It chugged away, night and day, pounding at his head. No wonder no words came to him, they couldn’t hear his thoughts.
It was a particularly bad morning. He woke up after a poor nights sleep with a bad back. He scolded himself making the coffee. The laptop was slow to start. He sat staring at that blank page. Outside the generator chugged, on and on. He sat there for a long time.
Then he went outside to the shed in his dressing gown and slippers. He appeared outside with an axe in his hand. It took him a surprising amount of time to truly kill the generator. When he walked back into his house, he was soaked in oil.
He sat down to write. Peace at last.
The screen was black. He pushed the power button. Nothing. He flicked a lightswitch. Nothing.
Then he had an idea for a story.
Paddy Dobson
14th August 2021