Okay, friend. We need to talk about that little blinking cursor.
You know the one! That tiny vertical line that just sits there, mocking you while you're trying to write literally anything. I've named mine Glenn. Yeah, Glenn the Cursor. And let me tell you, Glenn is a real piece of work.
Picture this: It's 11:47 PM. I'm in my ratty college sweatshirt (the one with the mysterious stain that might be spaghetti sauce from 2019), and I've got a deadline breathing down my neck like a creepy mouth-breather on the subway. I crack my knuckles, open my laptop with the determination of a warrior heading into battle, and there he is. Glenn. Just... blinking at me.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
It's like he's tapping his tiny cursor foot, checking his tiny cursor watch, wondering when I'm gonna get my act together and actually TYPE something. The audacity!
You know what Glenn reminds me of? That one substitute teacher who would just stand at the front of the class in complete silence until everyone shut up. Remember that? The awkward, suffocating silence that made you want to crawl under your desk? That's Glenn energy right there.
So there I am, hopped up on my third (okay, fifth) cup of coffee, and my brain decides to take a vacation. Total ghost town up there. Tumbleweeds rolling through. And Glenn? Oh, he's LOVING it. I swear that little line blinks faster when he knows I'm struggling. It's like he feeds on my creative despair!
I try everything. The classic "just start typing random words to get the juices flowing" move. Nope. Glenn blinks harder. I attempt the "stare intensely at the screen until inspiration strikes" technique. Glenn stares back. We're locked in this bizarre standoff, and honestly? He's winning.
Here's the thing nobody tells you about writing - sometimes your brain just... doesn't. Like, it literally refuses to brain. One minute you're a functioning adult with thoughts and opinions, and the next minute you're googling "what are words" because you've forgotten how language works.
But you know what? The secret I've learned after years of battling Glenn? He's not actually the enemy. Plot twist! He's more like that friend who won't let you leave the house in a questionable outfit. Sure, he's annoying, but he's just trying to help you not embarrass yourself.
The real magic happens when you stop fighting him. When you just start typing absolute garbage. And I mean GARBAGE. Like "The purple elephant danced with seventeen spoons while contemplating the meaning of Tuesday." Suddenly, Glenn chills out. He's like, "Oh, we're doing something? Cool, cool."
Before you know it, that ridiculous sentence about the elephant turns into an actual paragraph, which turns into an actual idea, which turns into... wait for it... actual WRITING! Who knew?!
Last week, I had this massive presentation due, and Glenn and I went twelve rounds. I typed, deleted, typed again, ate an entire sleeve of crackers (don't judge), typed some more. Finally, at 2 AM, covered in cracker crumbs and shame, I just word-vomited everything onto the page. And you know what? It worked! Sure, it needed editing, but Glenn and I had broken through the wall!
The presentation went great, by the way. My boss even said it was "refreshingly honest" which I'm pretty sure is code for "wow, you really just said what everyone was thinking, huh?"
So next time you're locked in mortal combat with your own Glenn, remember - he's not judging you. He's just... there. Blinking. Waiting. Probably wondering why you named him Glenn of all things. (Seriously, why DID I name him Glenn? It just felt right!)
Just start typing. Even if it's nonsense. Even if it's about how much you hate Glenn. Trust me, something magical happens when you stop trying to be perfect and just let the words fall out of your brain like a bunch of drunk toddlers tumbling down stairs.
Anyone else have a Glenn in their life? What do you call yours? And more importantly - have you also eaten an entire sleeve of crackers during a writing crisis? Please tell me I'm not alone in this!
Comments
Post a Comment