You can’t edit a blank page.
Kent hated that sentence. It seemed to be used by people who didn’t know how to write, had never written anything of substance in their entire lives, and found it necessary to try and be relevant.
As he sat at his desk looking out over the green grass, which seemed so dead until the last evening’s downpour, Kent wished he could be just like that. When he went to bed last night he stressed as to what he would write the next morning. He hadn’t written anything besides the grocery list, and that was because his wife asked him to go to the supermarket. And even then, he found it difficult to complete the list. Usually he wrote what was needed on a board placed on the front of the fridge, but hadn’t done so. What a place to have a board he thought to himself as he gazed at the number of photographs and magnets on the door, can’t there be a better place for all this?
Kent walked over to the back window. ‘Look,’ he thought, ‘there’s a rabbit outside. Let me follow its movements and see if it gets any closer to my vegetable garden. If it does, then I’ll get my airgun.’ He smiled when he realised that this year he had planted kohlrabi. He had seen them at a local nursery and knew he had to have them. The rabbit hopped a little closer to the fence and then, as if it had been hit by a bolt of lightning, it turned and fled into the trees which lined his property. Maybe an imbedded memory built into its DNA as most of its ancestors didn’t make it to their second birthday as they had gone up in puffs of smoke.
The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon ushering in another day. That only served as reminder to Kent that his agent would be calling him as soon as she woke up wondering how his writing was progressing. She never failed to remind him that the publisher was getting close to cancelling the contract.
He stood by the large picture window taking his time surveying the brightening landscape and wondering what he was going to do for the day. He needed to write. He knew he needed to write and maybe so did the rabbit. Maybe that’s why it ran off thus not giving Kent another reason to break his concentration. He sighed and went back to sitting at his desk. He looked into his empty mug. His coffee was gone. Maybe if he got another mug of strong coffee, it would help him concentrate. Even though it was obvious that the last two hadn’t. Three had always been a lucky number for Kent and he wondered if that extended to the number of mugs of coffee he drank. He needed to find out. Of course, he needed to find out. There’s nothing to it. All he had to do was load up the coffee maker and it would do all the work. All that Kent needed to do was stand there and wait for it to splutter, which would be the signal that his coffee now needed to move to the next stage, where the coffee would share space with sugar and cream. And then back to the desk and some more staring out of the window.
The sun was now higher and in fact Kent thought to himself. ‘Oh my, it looks exactly like it did yesterday morning when I sat here waiting for it to rise. How ominous. I wonder if it looks the same every morning. I bet you it does.’ He picked up his pen once more and looked at. I wish I knew how to type he added to his ever-growing list of useless thoughts. ‘How come I’m the only one in the world who doesn’t know how to type? Everyone knows how to type. In fact, they all look at me as if I have three heads when I tell them I don’t know how to type. My poor editor, she probably looks at my scribble and says why me? Why can’t I find someone else to read and transcribe my scribble? That’s it, today is the day I enter the twenty first century. I’m actually going to finish the rest of my manuscript on my laptop. Now where did I put it? Oh yes,’ and with that renewed energy Kent got up from the desk went over to his computer bag, pulled out the laptop and placed it in front of him. He rubbed his hands in delight. He raised the lid. The laptop jumped to life. He was crestfallen. He forgot that laptops nowadays jump to immediate life and don’t take time to go through a multitude of irrational steps before one could type.
He looked at the blank page. No more excuses. His fingers crashed lightly on to the keyboard. An hour later he smiled, he was really proud of himself. He stretched knowing he had written more than he had written in quite a while. He was proud of himself. He owed himself a prize. What should it be? Maybe a fourth mug of coffee. Kent grabbed his mug but surprise, it was still full. He hadn’t taken a sip in the last hour. He couldn’t wait for his mobile phone to ring knowing that it was the agent. He could honestly tell her that he had written for an hour. She would be delighted, he knew that. He expertly saved the document, titled it just with the date and sat back to finish his cold coffee. He thought about heating it but that would take the fun away from telling people proudly he had finished a mug of cold coffee because he was so busy writing. Ahh, he reminded himself. I can actually email this to Carla, and he proudly did so. He got up from the chair. It was around the time that others in the house started getting up. He was excited to share his success with them.
The phone rang. He grabbed it and without looking the number answered it. He had already formulated what he was going to say to his agent.
“What did you just send me?”
“Oh, hi Carla. Isn’t it fabulous. I sent you the latest instalment of the book.”
“That’s wonderful Kent. But what language did you type in?”
“English,” he replied his enthusiasm beginning to wane.
“Not the English I learnt in school,” she replied politely.
“Oh,” replied Kent even more crestfallen, “why do you say that?”
“Did you read what you wrote?”
“No,” he replied, “I never do.”
“Kent!” she replied rather sternly. “Do me and yourself a favour. Stay with writing in long hand. I can’t make heads or tails of what you wrote,” and with that she hung up. Oh dear thought Kent suddenly realising he hadn’t corrected the spelling in the document he had sent her.
The phone rang again. Yes, he knew that number, it was his agent. He picked up the phone and without saying anything, walked over to the window. The rabbit was back. “Hello,” he said finally sounding disillusioned.