Lost
I’m writing today, as in most days, highly focused and dialed into a storyline…and, oh look, a squirrel. Perhaps I’ve confused reaching saturation with being highly focused. I had so many tabs open across the top of my browser that I lost count, but what was the point? It was too damn many to choose from, plus the words at the top of each tab were abbreviated—I was lost in my browser.
So, whose fault is it when an organic gets lost three links deep in a newly opened website, only to cut something needed for pasting into another app that is five links deep under a different tab? Good luck with the tabs when they only contain nonsensical abbreviations.
That was the deal: I found myself wrapped around the axle of a routine task. If one has an opposable thumb and a functioning finger, it’s a simple roadmap. Cut, paste, done.
That was the strategy until the first shot was fired…I mean the very first shot, like returning to the original tab after I made the cut, turned around, intending to head back and paste the amazing content I’d researched for an hour to find.
Back to where?
That’s when my simple task went to shit. There I sat in possession of content I had researched for an hour, I cut it to copy it, only to realize, amidst the chaos of too many open tabs on my browser, that I had no clue where to return to paste it…because I was lost. I tried to console myself by recalling that good people have gotten lost on browsers, too. It didn’t help my angst, and I was stone sober but helplessly lost in a software application.
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Found
My Relentless Wench Muse (RWM), who manages to remain just out of reach, found a new character, named Henry Lattimore, in a bunker in Virginia. She decided he was essential to the story and into something I could not clearly see. I agreed with Her, and thought he’d be a good fit…as soon as She tells me what the fit will be. Thank you, RWM, for finding another deviation from the storyline I thought was in my head.
That’s how we work together. Characters She finds are always part of a puzzle that, when figured out, places me under house arrest as soon as She spins a storyline together in my head and demands I write. It’s Her. She’s behind the wheel, and as Her scribe, I write down what She says. Why fight it?
Melissa, RMW’s bodyguard, having similar dimensions and capability as the Hulk, grabs my wrist and drags me out of the recliner and throws me roughly over her shoulder like a bath towel, and heads back to my desk. She seems so much taller, and I so much weaker…when she’s ten feet tall…like Alice.
Shit…I AM down another rabbit hole. She’s not real. She’s in my head. Another left turn to active procrastination, not contributing to the story I am supposed to be writing, and this shit pops into my head… recalculating.
Then She shows up. “You have a story to write, mate,” says the soft Australian female voice in my mind. It’s Her, RWM. She is the boss of me, and I’m afraid She likes it; never misses a trick. Wench. But, damn, that sweet Aussie voice…probably a good thing She’s not a real girl. I’d be lost waiting to be found by Her for another story.
Carry on. There is nothing more to see here.
Peace! G.
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Author Thoughts are posted on my Facebook Author Page, Learning by Living, and my Substack site.