Keystrokes

To everyone who asked for a zine, if you haven’t already received your copy, it should be arriving soon. They were all sent out on the same day, so, it’s been rather interesting to see how quickly (or slowly) the various postal services have delivered these precious pieces of cargo. I also have to say a huge THANK YOU! to everyone who got involved in my little experiment. It’s been such a trip to see the photos of people with their zines and to realise that some quirky piece of art I made has made it to all these far-out places around the world. It’s also been so goddamn heartening to have so many of you generously offer to pay for shipping. I was asked so many times, “can I pay for postage?” that I ended up making a ‘Buy Me A Coffee’ account just so I could appease all you generous buggers. And so, again, thank you, friends – you made this curious dude posing as a platypus very happy. :)

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Okay, now, there’s one more thing before we get to today’s piece. And it’s actually about today’s piece. . . I decided – because me and The Writing Gods aren’t talking right now, (don’t ask, it’s a long story, or at least, it would be if they’d help me write it!) – that I would challenge myself to write a piece in one day. The real challenge being that no matter how bad it was, I would share it anyway. Truth be told, I hate this idea – it is a terribly uncomfortable prospect for the perfectionist that lives inside me. But fuck him, I’m doing it anyway. Here goes nothing. . .

I am in my room. Nyx aka Nicholas, the larger of our two cats, is curled up beside me. Having plopped himself down on my left arm he informed me with an unyielding stare that I will be writing this piece one-handed. Not one to argue, I have ceded to his terms.

Across the hallway, Evie is in her room. She is sitting at her desk writing. I know this because I can hear her tapping away at her keyboard.

Ta-ta-ti-ta-ta-ti-ta-ta-ti…

The sound is rhythmic. As if the words flow out of her in some sort of symphonic harmony. There’s more to it than that, though. Echoing out from the flutter of her fingers there is a conspicuous tone of conviction. Like Evie believes not just in the words she’s committing to the page, but also in the life she’s committing to with each keystroke.

“Yes, yes, I will do for you…” Our considerate neighbour yells from our shared-stairwell as if the person she’s talking to is deaf and she’s decided that if she just shouts loud enough, she’ll make herself heard.

WA-BANG! Our neighbour’s door slams behind her, rattling the foundation of our apartment block.

A resonant silence follows. But it quickly takes on a different tenor. One that speaks volumes: Evie has stopped typing. Her rhythm thrown off by the disruption. Waiting to hear her start back up, I look at Nyx. Meeting my gaze through dozy eyes, he yawns as he stands up to stretch. With my left arm momentarily liberated, I quickly transcribe what just transpired. Then, Nyx gives me the ‘look’, and I dutifully return my arm to its rightful spot. Nyx begins to purr, as I hear the harmony resume.

Ta-ta-ti-ta-ta-ti-ta-ta-ti…

Later, when we stop for lunch, Evie will ask me how my writing’s going. Unable to keep a secret, I’ll hint at how she’s the subject, smirking as I do.

“You’re writing about me, aren’t you?” My perceptive detective will surmise.

“I dunno, maybe…” I’ll say, “… you’ll have to wait and see.”

Even later still, I’ll show Evie this piece. Searching her face for any hint of what she thinks while she reads it. Ever the professional, she’ll give me her feedback, suggesting I tweak this and that. Which I will. Then, we’ll go our separate ways for the afternoon. Her, to a Pilates class. And me, to the pool for a swim and the sauna to eavesdrop on the regulars.

But for now, we’re both writing. Tapping away at the keys, me with one hand and her with two, we’re composing the rhythm of our life together, one keystroke at a time.

Ta-ta-ti-ta-ta-ti-ta-ta-ti…