[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":47},["ShallowReactive",2],{"library-in-his-own-words":3},{"id":4,"title":5,"body":6,"date":38,"description":12,"extension":39,"form":40,"meta":41,"navigation":42,"path":43,"seo":44,"stem":45,"__hash__":46},"library/library/in-his-own-words.md","In His Own Words",{"type":7,"value":8,"toc":34},"minimark",[9,13,16,19,22,25],[10,11,12],"p",{},"The man sat at the keyboard staring into the void of his monitor.  The cursor taunted him, blinking off and on, knowing that the words would never come.  It's not that the words weren't there, or that they'd never been there.  It's just been years since his last attempt to write anything of significance, and he found it to be more difficult to have anything meaningful to put into the ether than it had ever been in his life.   He wasn't sure what the problem was, but he was pretty confident that it was just because he was no longer practiced.  He was surrounded by media, movies, and television.  Stories that amazed and astounded.  All he wanted in the world was a story of his own.  Something he could share with the world and let them all know he had something all along.  But the cursor just sat there, quietly laughing at the man's misfortune.",[10,14,15],{},"He's pretty sure that his creative spark had been sapped and stolen.  It was probably taken in the middle of the night by one of his exes or former muses.  Who knows.  But it was gone, and he wasn't sure how to find it again.  He looked over at the coffee that sat before him, the gentle wisps of steam hovering just over the rim of the cup.  He reached down, grabbed the warm cup without using the handle, and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the caramel java within.  He closed his eyes, thinking about drinking coffee when he was a child.  His grandma's café au lait had always been a particular favorite any morning he could enjoy it.  He'd been drinking coffee since he was a baby, though then it was 98% warm milk with just a hint of coffee and a dab of sugar to make it delicious.  He still can't drink coffee black.  No, he absolutely needs cream and sugar to make it even remotely palatable.",[10,17,18],{},"He shook his head.  \"No - I'm just avoiding the one thing I sat here to do.\"  He lowered his head into his hand and wiped his face.  He thought maybe coming to this café would help spark something in him.  He'd always found working away from home to be extremely helpful for getting things done.  Years ago, he spent many nights at Starbucks and St. Louis Bread Company locations working through a huge project with a friend.  Late nights, cranking through code, discussing the project, and making huge progress.  It was fun.  At the time, though, he also had someone there to push him, to cheer him on from the sidelines.  Another player on the team to make him want to have progress to show.   Now, he was here, alone in a crowd of people.  He looked around, taking in the faces of those behind the bar, and the groups of fellow patrons that surrounded him.  A few others were on laptops, and he saw that the old guy behind him was actually gaming, noting that it was classic StarCraft.   He wasn't sure what the others were doing, but they all looked focused and busy, which made his own lack of focus feel even more burdensome.",[10,20,21],{},"He looked down at his laptop once again, his Pomodoro timer slowly ticking down.  He'd never used a timer before, but someone told him they were effective for helping rein in his focus and concentration.  He was pretty sure the clock and the cursor were both conspiring against him.   He thought about doing something else.  Why was he doing this anyway?  He's never been an amazing writer.  Who was he trying to fool?  He searched inside and knew the truth.  Even the most avid reader in his life never read anything he ever wrote, and he took that to heart.  If she doesn't want to be bothered to read anything he's put to paper, why should anyone else care what he has to say?  Again, he sank his face into his welcoming hands, while his elbows rested upon the bar.  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.  He thought about gently weeping into his hands, hoping that perhaps the stream of emotion would bring out the fire in his heart and help him put words on the page.  Neither the tears nor the words ever came.  But the cursor kept blinking, and the timer kept ticking.",[10,23,24],{},"He knew what the issue was, but he was terrified to admit it.  Maybe, at one time, it had been thievery that stole his inspiration, but that was no longer the case.  He had the ideas.  He had the thoughts; he just didn't have the words.  What was once so easy, so fluid, so elegant, was now almost a chore.   It was the Engine's fault.  He gave it his ideas, hopes, and dreams - and it gave him stories and images in return.  He was delighted.  He was able to create everything he dreamed of without lifting a finger.  It made dreaming almost too easy, with immediate access to all those dreams at the click of a button: readily available, easy to read, and fun to enjoy.  But while they may have been his ideas, they were not his words.  He loved every one of them, but he didn't feel comfortable sharing them with the world. Now he was ready to actually make those ideas entirely his own, but found that he could not.  The Engine was a better writer than he had ever been, and he wasn't sure that he could compete... and suddenly, the words came.  A random thought, and he began to type.  Maybe the words had been there all along, but he just needed to actually try and bring them to the surface again.  Maybe he was a writer after all.",[26,27,28,31],"notes",{},[10,29,30],{},"Wow.  It's taken me some time, but I did it.  This was the first thing I've written fictionally in years completely on my own.  No ideas from AI, no 'Hey - where do I go with this character?'.  This one came straight from the heart, and it feels great.  Is it good, who knows.  I might submit it to a few places and see if I can get some critique, but I wrote something.",[10,32,33],{},"This was my attempt to write Flash Fiction - a story with 1000 words or less.  I think it worked, even if it was semi-autobiographical.  Hopefully it's the start of more to come, and the first piece that I'll be featuring in my new Library.",{"title":35,"searchDepth":36,"depth":36,"links":37},"",2,[],"2026-08-24","md","Flash fiction",{},true,"/library/in-his-own-words",{"title":5,"description":12},"library/in-his-own-words","wgIJEZHXTHepWRzSChI7WhhT6QMBfixNtlqn0QWHtCk",1787629741558]