Is there anything more intimidating in life than a blank document, with the cursor blinking at your accusingly? Maybe it’s because I am a writer, by trade and choice these days, but that empty page with it’s menacing reminder of what isn’t there feels haunting.

Each paragraph it returns, the blank openness that needs filling, marked by that winking eye telling you where you need to start. “Write something,” it says, “anything, just do it.” Yet it’s never that easy. On a page, you have no mockery, just open territory to fill at your leisure, but electronically you have that flickering reminder that nothing has happened yet.

Oh cursor, oppressive figure and instigator that you are.

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