The Hot Keyboard
I have always been fascinated with the idea of stories coming to life. The Hot Keyboard is one of those ideas I put down. No one seems to really like it, but I have enjoyed writing it.
I have always been fascinated with the idea of stories coming to life. The Hot Keyboard is one of those ideas I put down. No one seems to really like it, but I have enjoyed writing it.
The Hot Keyboard
(A short story In 5 Pages)
On this lazy sleepy day, I am sitting at my table playing a no brainer computer game. It isn’t a mind consuming game, nor even very challenging. It entails moving little pictures, which I think are called ‘icons’, around the screen to get the character through a maze. Once that is completed you advance to a new level and start all over.
Even so, I have reached a level in the game that I cannot overcome, as each prior level has grown progressively more difficult, and I am at an impasse. I was offered an “out” when a little sign came up on the screen pointing out that I seemed to be having some difficulty completing this level, and for just a dollar I could buy the “magic rock” to help me along.
I downloaded the game in the first place because it was free. Danged if I am going to pay money just to keep playing a game that has no ending.
I had already become frustrated with the game, and I finally realized I have been doing nothing for the past few hours except waste my time. I’m not any smarter after those hours. I haven’t gained any insight into how to improve the world. I don’t even feel better. The only thing that has happened is my eyes are now blurry from staring into the computer screen for hours. Surely computers can be used for something other than playing free games that may end up costing you hundreds of dollars.
“Why yes they can.” I say aloud. (Mostly just to hear a sound other than the ‘biddleybop’ music that the game has been producing, but also to remind myself that, yes indeed, you can use computers for something other than games.)
So, what can I, personally, do with a computer?
I have played around with writing for a number of years, and I enjoy coming up with an idea, and working it out, finally bringing some sort of story to life. It doesn’t matter that no one has read my stories, the writing itself is entertaining, and I am always surprised at some of the things I write that are actually good. (well, at least in my mind they are good, I have never gotten independent confirmation of that since, as I just mentioned, no one else has read them.)
So, I open up my word processing program and see the blank page with that little line flashing on top of the screen. ‘Cursors’, I think they are called. At least they used to be called that when I first started learning about computers years ago. I don’t call them anything now, it’s just a line showing me where the next letter will appear.
With that thought on my mind, I watched the cursor blinking tirelessly in the top left corner of the page, waiting for me to write the first letter of the first word so it could move over one space to the right and sit there blinking, waiting for me to put the next letter down. (Or number. I don’t think cursors are prejudiced that way)
Hmmm, what can I say? What would be interesting to write? What is on my mind right now? (I ponder, while watching that little line flash on the screen. I can’t tell if it is patiently flashing, or impatiently telling me to hurry up.)
I had opened the word processor, not having anything particular in mind to write about. I just knew I wanted to write something. It will take time to come up with a good idea, a few trials and errors until I set my mind on my story line. From experience it usually works that way for me, and sometimes I actually have come up with something interesting. It just takes a while.
I do a lot of reading about writing. I saw an article once about this writing exercise, which I have used before called the “hot pen” technique.
Basically, it consists of, taking a blank sheet of paper and start writing. What you write doesn’t have to make sense, just put words down and keep going. The idea is to try to write complete sentences and wait for an idea to pop into your head. I have found that soon I’m writing not only complete, but comprehensive sentences and paragraphs and maybe even developing story lines. Then sometimes I set myself a goal, such as trying to complete my thought in a certain amount of pages, such as five.
I don’t do that writing thing often, but coming off a computer game induced stupor I need something to get my mind moving.
So instead of getting a pen and paper, since I’m in front of the computer, I start typing:
What would make a good story? I think to myself, (that’s why there are no quotation marks around the question, as I just asked it to myself, inside my mind, rather than aloud.)
But my mind heard me, and then I think, “I would like to write a mystery, a suspenseful mystery. Maybe it would be a murder mystery, or perhaps even a ghost story, although I am not too good with that sort of writing.” (Do I need quotation marks on unspoken but specific thoughts? I’ll have to look that up)
So, I begin putting words on the screen. Soon my ‘hot pen’ is on fire. (yes, of course it isn’t a pen writing the words, but my fingers on the keyboard. I suppose this could be called a ‘hot keyboard’ technique)
I continue writing words down as fast as I can as soon as they pop into my mind.
Naturally, there is a lot of meaningless rambling as I wait for inspiration to come flashing across the eyes of my mind.
While thinking this, a theme begins to form and I visualize a woman, a young woman, heck, let’s go all out. I visualize a “cute” young woman alone in a cabin in the woods. Cliché? Already been done a thousand times? Yes, but if it can take root in my mind, I can come up with some twists that will make it a unique story. I’m sometimes good at plot twists.
So, this young woman is in a cabin in the woods. This cute young woman. What is she doing there? Heck, I don’t know, maybe she is a writer too, and she went out there to work on her great American novel. I can change that later, but this will work for now to get me started.
Continuing with that thought - she is writing this story about a serial killer. The details of the killer are very vague at this point, as far as knowing who he (or she) is, what he/she looks like, or his (or her) - - - - OK, enough of that politically correct stuff, the killer is a HE. It’s my story, and I decide the killer is going to be a man. (Not saying there aren’t any female killers, of course.)
But I (therefore also the cute young woman) still don’t know what he looks like, who he is, or what his motive is. Like I say, that will come.
Her (the cute woman’s) story explains there have been a series of murders that the police have positively determined was done by the same person. The killer has a special way of spying on his/or her (– dang it, HIS -) victims while they are unaware he is near. His victims are always doing something at the time that keeps their mind occupied, and their attention separated from whatever may be happening around them while he stalks then pounces. Maybe the victims were talking on the phone, or texting, listening to music with their ear buds, watching TV, or yes, even playing computer games, or ha ha, engrossed in writing a story about a killer.
So, our young woman is so involved in writing her story that she doesn’t realize how much time has passed. She knows it is a good story because, as she writes she has even lost herself in the story, wondering what will happen next and, without realizing she is doing it, finding the answer ‘magically’ appear on her computer screen after she had written the words. - - - When Suddenly!!!!
You guessed it, there is a noise which is loud enough and unusual enough that it breaks her from her writing trance and causes her to listen intently. At first, she thinks it is just the wind blowing a tree limb on the cabin, but when she looks out the window there is no wind, nor even a tree near enough to tap the window. Intrigued now, as it has become suddenly very quiet, she gets up to investigate.
Yeah, I can come back and flesh this part out in the rewrite, and go into details about her slowly opening her bedroom door knowing it is all in her imagination. Maybe she is thinking the noise is nothing except a mouse running across the table.
She tries to remember if she had locked the front door and walks that way to find out.
Then, as you probably have guessed again, as she walks into the kitchen this shadowy figure lunges toward her holding the famous chef knife high, and if it had been a movie, we would hear this loud piercing music as he comes toward her swinging the knife.
‘This can’t be happening,’ she thinks as she tries to escape. “THIS CAN’T BE REAL!” She screams aloud, knowing in her heart that it is oh so very real and is now beyond all her control.
Now I am getting into the story. In my mind I begin to work out what should happen next, how will she get out of this? Will she get out of this?
I am deep within the story, my room disappears to be replaced by her cabin in the woods, I am inside her mind as she tries to work out some sort of escape plan. My fingers become a blur as letter by letter, each word, comes flying across the page moving that little cursor with lightning speed - - - -
Now this is s a STORY!
I can make this work.
In the real world I am in my study sitting at my desk writing the world’s greatest suspense story on my computer. Actually, my study is a small spare bedroom where I have my laptop sitting on a card table.
While I am lost deep inside the world I just created on the computer, the door to my study/bedroom is slowly opening. I know this now because I can hear a small squeak of the hinges intruding into my brain while I am on this writing roll.
I listen, then pause four seconds, but I forget why I paused, as my mind is still out in the cabin trying to get my unnamed cute young female either safely home to carry on her life or have her violently murdered so I can bring the “real” protagonist into the story. (A protagonist I have yet to create, if the story chooses to proceed in that direction.)
Wow! Then it hit me.
Can you imagine this? I am sitting at my computer, writing a story about a woman sitting at HER computer writing a story about a murderer, when a maniac comes into her house trying to stab her, while MY own study (bedroom) door is slowly opening behind me, and I am just now beginning to realize that for sure.
I have not seen my door opening; however, I hear the hinges groan while I stare at my computer screen. This is a sound I have heard often. Every time I open the door, in fact, and I should have oiled the hinges weeks ago, but didn’t, which is actually a good thing, otherwise I would not know the door was opening now.
I really can’t remember even closing the door, but it sure sounds like it is opening at this second.
All right. I’m writing a mystery, so my imagination has just gotten away from me. I can get up, turn around, go open the door myself to stop the squeaking (as it’s probably just the wind), and get on with my writing.
But imagine this. Before I can slide my chair back and stand and turn around, this all too real voice behind me says, “Where’s your money…susususus?”
I didn’t understand what he said after saying, “Where’s your money…” but I don’t think they were very nice words.
I’m still lost in the world between the woman in the cabin I was writing about and coming to the realization that there is a very real story happening right behind me in my own room when I slowly stand and turn around.
It’s amazing what can go through a mind in a split second. There in my doorway stands a man. It is too dark to see his face, but he had spoken, so I know it definitely is a man.
My mind tells me he should be holding a large chef knife that he picked up in my kitchen, but I don’t have a large chef knife, and the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment. He is, however, holding a very black pistol of some sort.
The adrenalin pumps through my veins bringing fear to my brain and logic to my mind. My logic is saying, ‘Now come on. This CAN’T be happening. This Can’t be real. I’m a writer, I have just been writing about a killer coming into a house, now here is an armed intruder in MY apartment?- - - Nah.’
There is a super loud noise, I jump, heart pounding, as I realize he just shot the pistol he was holding! I don’t know if it was intentional or not, or even if he was aiming for me or not, but he didn’t hit me. It hit the mirror on the wall next to me which shattered.
“My Gosh,” I think so loudly I feel I’m screaming. “This IS real! This isn’t a movie, this isn’t a reality TV show, or even a computer game. THIS IS REAL, and it’s happening now! And it’s happening to ME! How can this be happening???”
If only I could just go back inside my mind and listen to my thoughts and pretend this is my imagination, but right now I can’t hear anything except this loud ringing in my ears. Even a small caliber pistol going off in a small room like mine is enough to stop all attempts of being able to hear for a good ten minutes, and my head is reeling from the blast.
If this is real, I have to think fast. I have a gun. I know how to use a gun and I go to the range often. I can defend myself. But how do you defend yourself if someone is already pointing their gun at you, this time right at my head, and your gun is where mine is, in my ‘real’ bedroom unloaded in its box in the nightstand?
He has moved into the room. He is wearing a hat, but I can now see his face from the light in the room. No, I don’t recognize him, but I think I could identify him when, or if I have a chance to do that. Then watching his expression, I realize with a sinking heart that he also knows I could identify him when or if I get the chance, and he doesn’t seem to like that idea very much.
He says something else which is also hard to understand because my head is still ringing, but I think he said, “Sorry Dude,” which, if that is what he said, does not bode too well for me right now, because he isn’t saying, “Sorry Dude,” for sneaking inside my house. He isn’t saying, “Sorry Dude,” for pointing a gun at me, nor is he saying, “Sorry Dude,” for just shattering my mirror and giving me the world’s biggest headache. None of that matters because I know he is saying, “Sorry Dude,” for what he is about to do, and I know he does intend on doing it because he really sounded sorry when he said it.
I quickly realize it doesn’t matter what he said or what I know, as I can see his finger tightening on the trigger and no amount of words can change that fact.
The mind is truly an amazing organ. What is actually happening within a millisecond, is slowly being played in my brain in super slow motion. What seems like minutes or hours, have passed while we stand watching each other for those few seconds. His finger is slowly squeezing, the knuckle on his trigger finger slowly turning white under the pressure and I
can see right down the barrel of the black, very large gun, which he is holding very steady. There will be no miss this time, intentional or not.
Oh No, Oh God, This is really happening. I am about to die. I don’t know why or how I came to this point in my life, but I know it is happening, and in my slow-motion mind I can see the hammer fall on that beautiful pistol, followed by the slug slowly leaving the barrel, all before any sound gets to my ears, before the gun even jerks in his hand.
Now I see the shape of the gun, the hammer, the size of the barrel and I realize this is probably a Colt 1911 semi-automatic. Maybe a .45 caliber, from the size of the barrel and because of the loud bang it produced a few seconds earlier and is beginning to produce now. It’s the type of firearm used in the military in many wars, and a very beautiful weapon, but the satisfaction of noticing all of these facts dissipates as I watch a tongue of flame slowly following the bullet exiting the barrel of the gun, while smoke follows the flame and surrounds the pistol and his hand.
Now the gun is recoiling slowly upward, and the slide slowly ejects the hot shell casing, still the sound has not reached my ears, but the slug is only 6 feet from the center of my forehead in its unwavering execution of physics.
“How can this be happening?” (I keep repeating to myself while the bullet comes closer, me being unable to dodge or even blink, as this is all happening in a fraction of a second)
How can this be real? (It can’t, can it?)
Things like this don’t really happen, do they? They only happen - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -in stories.
***
And as I ponder these thoughts of what it could be like to know of your impending death, I am watching my fingers fly over my computer keyboard. Each time I press a key, an individual letter will appear on the screen, each letter seeming to chase the elusive flashing cursor across the page. The letters become words. Occasionally my fingers hit the wrong keys, but the bad letters are quickly replaced with the letters that complete the correct spelling for that particular word due to the magic of computer spell check. (thank God for)
The words become sentences, and the sentences form various parts of a story which becomes more comprehensive as each individual sentence is completed.
As I write these last sentences, I see that by the time I write my last word I will have fully completed five single space pages using my ‘hot pen/keyboard’ technique. My mind is now active, all the dullness from the computer game has been replaced with creativity.
But more important, I am on a roll and no matter which route I take; be it from the point of view of the cute young woman in the cabin, or the bored writer in his apartment, or even the mind of the deranged killer, I have come up with a number of good ideas for the story which I am about to write.