The Writer and His Nibs

THE WRITER AND HIS NIBS

The writer will tell you that writing flows sometimes like a waking dream raking thoughts into heaps of prose or verse or worse

With effort involved the reward is not necessarily better, given structure and meter, letter by letter, the words pile up - sometimes, used but useless maybe spotless but leaving no mark.

What once a typewriter’s bars clattered and pinged into permanence to be saved or scrunched up and tossed as litter into a wagger now becomes inkless screed on screen, non-existent even, saved or sacrificed to backspace like it never swaggered, befell or became or caused or encapsulated any thought. No casting in stone

Fingers that could maybe bow a cello, brandish a brush, throw a pot, tickle a trout or pick a pocket, choose instead to hammer or tap in the service of creation, dumping mindstep after thoughtfall into pixels or print. Latterday self-serving scribes..

An unnecessary squandering of time and spirit working to placate a schism, dichotomize a whim or sponge dry the messy outpourings of a ruminating mind, soak and squeeze, soak again squeeze again!

Lapdog to inspiration, mind`s tendrils seeking out the bones of a plot, following the scent, reasoning to conclusion by collusion with his-self, guiding it home

All shucked off and spilled from the gooey egghead cerebrum wrangling plot onto page as the tale wags the dog. Text as texture for future rendition

His Nibs, meanwhile, curled up afoot, sleeping, dreaming, shucking off some imaginary rain, grasping a bone, following a scent, letting his imagination run wildly, as his last feast churns rudely in capricious, nutritious, gutty complicity.

Letting go the occasional fart,

His Nibs celebrates it all with a sigh.

The search for creative satisfaction by those scribblers who famously talk of the blank page and character development is here compared to the ease with which our pets curl up at our feet or alongside and tune into their probably monotonous and limited dreams, falling into slumber with little effort - having no need it would seem to capture anything other than a bit more food, fornication and fortywinks every now and then.