Luis Llerena

Its so difficult to start.  I love notebooks.  They are so full of promise and potential.  And writing implements – gosh, I so so so love my Pentel Client retractable ball-point pen.  The body is so nice and pleasingly heavy in my hand, the medium point is so smooth and satisfying.  Throw in a cup of hot coffee on a quiet morning and I should be in heaven.  And yet . . .

I can’t make the pen touch the page.  I can’t.  I tell myself, it’s ok – start out slow.  Just write your name, today’s date.  NO! It seems so sacrilegious, I can’t bear to mar the beautiful pages.  Oh, don’t be silly, I tell myself.  I got the notebook just for this purpose.  Do it! Write!

But, its so pretty.  So clean, so pure.  Virginal.  My drivel would ruin it.

It was made to be ruined.  Made for your drivel.  Your bad poems. Do it!

I can’t! I can’t be so cruel, so heartless!

*disgusted sigh*

You’re weak.

Yes. Yes I am.

Come on, get it over with!  Be brave.  Own your notebook.  Write!  Write now!

I take a slow sip of coffee.  I look out the window.  I pick up my pen.

Somewhere in my head, I hear a deep, mental breath being drawn.

I begin.