Terror at (Ball) Point Blank Range

Humorous slant on a not so humorous writing issue! Written in Jan. of this year.

 

It has been a fortnight since I was pierced by the realization of being scared to death by blank pieces of paper. No wonder dozens of images and stories roar much like a NASCAR event in my head! Being acutely aware of this absurdity, I imagine what it sounds like to anyone reading it.

 

 

Seeking this root of terror, I saw myself as a turtle halted in a four way crossroads bottlenecking the story traffic. Horns honked, tires squealed, engines revved and passengers shouted impatiently to proceed to their faux papyrus destination. There I sat, quill in hand, stuck in mud and shell instead of flowing with anything except the most elementary passages.  I must allow the clamoring word cars unfettered journeying lest they shift gears, stomp the gas and run over me.

 

Being a turtle has worked well except when survival becomes dependent upon poking out of one's shell. An overdue need for written expression now outweighs the familiar comfort and protection good armor possesses. Mine has reached the capability of suffocation.

 

Determined to eradicate this demon at the source, I have been shadowing my actions as a falcon circling its unsuspecting dinner. Self-observation has paid off through revelation of personal truth. Ballpoint blank range terror manifests itself through a host of avoidance mechanisms.

 

Seems I have become a master of avoidance. The moment I mentally create time niches for writing an overactive avoidance parade surfaces. Excuses march into consciousness with the precision of a Tournament of Roses! The dog needs let out or needs a drink, there is a phone call to make, I feel like having a snack, better clean out my email. The latest ingeniously contrived excuse involves the New York Stock Exchange. (I don't own stock) By the time I play gatekeeper to this charade parade, you guessed it; time is up. Remaining tucked and stuck in a shell has merely served to reverberate the cacophony.

 

Crawling onward, I search for a camouflaged watering hole amid the brambles. Much to my dismay, the word cars have pursued and surrounded my secret hideaway. A pitiful attempt to out fox them has failed. I surrender and hand over a purple velvet sledgehammer. Perhaps exposure, vulnerability and a cracked shell won't be so terrifying after all.

 

 

Reviews

[J. James Reider]

You've presented an interesting metaphore in this piece. The TV is my biggest faux paux... I don't watch it yet it distracts me... lol... The facts you presented about needing to make a phone call or check your e-mail are so true. Personally my best stuff comes to me when I step away from the computer for a little bit and just think... I can come up with some pretty weird stuff!

However, I think you've created a very entertaining short here. The topic of poking your head out of your shell is priceless, and referring to animals is something we both seem to do alot. I have virtually (NPI) scrapped the notebook in favor of the computer, so this make less sense than what you told me about MS Word. Always use colors (:

(I think I got here first this time!) lol

[Joanna Maharis]

This is a beautiful philosophical piece, with thought provoking images. I agree with and relate to many of the things you discuss to this piece.

[HoorayForUnderdog]

You are a riot! Fav line : The latest ingeniously contrived excuse involves the New York Stock Exchange. (I don't own stock)

[cyanskye]

I love your choice of labels here: word cars, charade parade. The frustration of writer's block is nicely expressed and your list of excuses is priceless.

I have taken to rehashing paragraphs as I drive to work. I seem to always come up with the perfect fix or sentence then of course have no way to write them down before I forget them. On occasion I have pulled out a receipt and furiously scribbled notes while on the shuttle but of course, once home, I can't make heads nor tails of them! I am thinking I really must quit my job!!

[yinseriv]

I did like this essay. Your images are always so visual. But images are supposed to do that I guess. I had to chuckle because I used to trick myself by writing a list of all the things I should be doing beside writing. Most times I would end up with a poem out of it.