SquarePeg Books

Tipity tap. Tap, tap, tap, tapptiy tip tap tip. Click. Clickity clack. Tappity tippity click clack.

Tipity click. Tippity clickclicktaptiptippityclicketytiptapclickclack.

Clackclackclacktippityclicktapclicktappitytiptapclickclakctiptapclicketyclacketyclicktip!

I’ve missed that noise. I didn’t realize how much I missed the sound of my fingers clicking away on my keyboard (I have an old Microsoft ergonomic model and I like it, so hush).

I missed writing. I knew I missed it. It was kinda obvious to everyone around me as well that I missed it.

But I didn’t realize how much I missed the sound of it. How much I missed the feel of my fingers racing to keep up with my thoughts and then pausing because I needed time to reread what I’d just thrown up on the document.

The last few weeks I’ve been able to tap out a segment here and there on my phone and send it to myself via email for review, but it didn’t have the same feel.

Last night was the first night I experienced real typing on my keyboard in years. I’d finally finished reading the printout of what I already had for a partial draft, and I sat down to move some things around and start a pre-edit to get all groovy again when it hit that the re-arrangement of sections needed more fleshing out from different angles.

An hour or so later, I’m listening to music on my ipod (I’m old, leave me alone!) but it’s still low enough that I can hear the clicks and taps of the keyboard as I feel my fingers fumble their way across the keys.

Oh, how I’ve missed that sound!

There were no hesitant taps. No lengthy pauses between words. There were a lot of backspace and rephrase moments, cut and paste, but overall, I was typing almost at the speed of my thoughts. For a while, it felt effortless.

Is Muse back?

Not yet, she whispers. A teasing kiss lingers on my neck, full of promises. Soon.

And then it was gone.

There have been some false starts. Some rearrangement issues are probably not going to come as easily as last night’s episode, but it gives me hope.  I’d been trying to find the groove again and falling over it, out of it, around it and to the side, but not really in it.

Last night I was in the groove. There was no fighting the story. No reaching for the next moment to describe. I’d found the rhythm, again. The flow.

If I can find it once, I can do it again.