Writing at 1PM

By Kyle Morrill

A gentle breeze ruffles my hair as I sit on the porch, pencil scratching across my notebook. The graphite tip scribbles along as my thoughts, my ideas, and my insights become formed upon the page. I feel a certain sense of joy, or perhaps contentment, as I finish off another paragraph of the rough draft I had been meaning to finish. I gave a reread of all that I have written so far and sighed…

"Estas malrapida laboro, sed estas bona laboro…" I trail off, clicking my tongue as I think about my phrasing. I roll the sentence around in my head for a moment, before shrugging it off and returning my attention to the notebook in front of me. It can be difficult locking my attention on such a slow task as writing— bordering on causing restlessness— but I persevere. The Lobotomy Corp fanfiction has been doing quite well, and is especially noticeable with it being the only full-length story on the page, so I need to get the next chapter out sooner, rather than later.

But before what little attention I can muster settles on the page once more, a buzz cuts through the air, drowning out the subtle, but constant sounds of singing birds, and the swaying trees in the wind. I pause for a moment, thinking about just who could be texting me at the moment. I drop the pencil on the notebook, then reach for my phone. But I stop, hand hovering over the little slab of glass and plastic. I pause, and think for a moment, before scoffing.

I pick up the pencil and return to drafting, a little thought fluttering around my head. "Just who do you know would even text you anyways?" I sigh, and attempt to return to what I was doing. My pencil touches the paper, however a tiny *snap* is heard, only audible because of my proximity. I grumble, and inspect the tip. Broken.

While I do have mechanical pencils laying around—some quite nice ones at that—I personally prefer to use good ol' fashioned No. 2 Ticonderogas, specifically for this. Taking this as a moment of respite, I grab my pocket knife from where it rests on the table, and pull it open. The crunchy feeling of the knife's hinge makes me cringe slightly, but there is not much I can do about it. I begin my whittling of the pencil's tip, using this as a moment to try and reorganize my thoughts; get my head back in the game, as it were.

However, much like the bees buzzing between the flowers, my thoughts refuse to settle onto the thing I want to focus on right now. Instead, they insist on bouncing back and forth between topics like a ping-pong ball.

"What am I going to eat later?" one mutters out.

"I wonder what that notification was?" asks another.

"Shut up, not important," dictates a third, "better question is: how are we going to resolve the previous plot hole we made?"

Another comes forth, "I want to play Minecraft."

"I want to know what that notification was," says the second again.

"Focus you fuck-" my own thought comes up, but is interrupted.

"Maybe it was Ace, or Pineapple? Ange stream maybe?" insists the second.

"The plothole, fix the plothole!" Another insistent thought forms.

Absolutely fantastic.

By now my knife was already put down, and pencil sharpened. I sit, staring blankly at the half-filled page, lost in the thoughts buzzing in my brain. The words and sentences fume around me like a storm, with my consciousness being thrown around like a lifeboat. They stir around me, attempting to drown me in the dark ocean of mental gridlock, as I fight to stay above water. All of my previously captured motivation drains away from me as I try to reign in the thoughts and get myself back on focus. I tap my pencil on the page impatiently, but still nothing comes.

I groan and collapse onto the foldable table, completely exasperated at the very likely avoidable turn of events. I am completely at the mercy of my thoughts, and there’s nothing I can do. I stare out across my notebook, my eyes landing on a pair of birds hopping around on the dirt driveway, pecking insects off of the ground. They had no major worldly issues to worry about, unlike me, whose time is slowly being taken up by more and more responsibilities, along with a crippling addiction to games. I am stuck here, my mind out of focus… but at least the robins are cute.

Hop Hop Hop.

Peck… Peck Peck…

Hop...

Fluffle!

Hop...

Peck!

“Kioma la horo?” comes a stray thought in Esperanto, breaking through the noise simply due to it being unique. I humor it, grabbing my phone and turning on the screen.

1:34pm… I’ve been rough drafting for around an hour, and I have completed nearly two pages. I smile to myself, taking pride in the productivity I have put forth, something truly unique in my life of video game addiction. I guess sitting outside and away from the computer has really helped keep me on task. I frown at that, considering the implications of such a revelation…

I check my notifications. A single one: a Discord notification from Dr. Bright’s Facility. Server Provider issues… again. I roll my eyes. They never seem to go a day without a problem.

I put my phone face down, and grab my pencil once more. I skim my eyes across the last few paragraphs again, reading slowly to try to realign my bearings to my previous course. After a moment, a light bulb goes off, and I set pencil to paper once more. Scribbling fills the air, blending with the bird song, and the swaying of trees.

It really is a beautiful day today!